


Death Cycle

by Hikou



Series: Spiral [1]
Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Death, F/M, Gore, Self-Insert, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikou/pseuds/Hikou
Summary: Often enough, our biggest mistake is thinking the world owes us something, especially an explanation. [Self-insert; Spiral Part 1]





	1. entry001.pdf

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>>1\. Attack on Reactor 73  
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entry0001.pdf

It was such a simple transition I often wondered if it even really happened at all. The distance between _here_ and _there_ had been so easily breached it seemed entirely too probable that _there_ had never really existed to begin with.

It all feels so far away, but then things in the past often do.

I still don't remember what day it had been when I'd shuffled myself out the door I hated only to go to a place I hated even more. It feels like it should have been mid-week, but then again I'm fairly certain everything was mid-week back then. Life was caught in the middle of its own existence, tiredly working towards a hypothetical _something_ that probably wasn't even real anyway.

I think it was supposed to have been happiness, but I can't really remember _that_ well.

I remember the color grey a lot. I think because it's familiar--the look of rain without rain, the indescribable cold you don't have to feel to know. I'd thrown myself out into it with a sense of regularity that haunts me now, trudged through slush to a piece of scrap metal I didn't even expect to make another trip and turned the key.

It almost didn't start, but after the eternity of seven seconds the vehicle shuddered itself into awareness. I backed out without looking. I didn't put the seat-belt on. I hadn't even turned the defrosters on.

In retrospect, I was begging for it.

But I made it quite a distance out of that village of junk and tin. Trailer park. Home.

I can't remember why I took the highway to work. I usually didn't; gas was too expensive. It must've been something about the traffic, or the time of day, but I floored it through the yellow light to spin too fast onto the entrance ramp. I was upset about something, had to have been. It wasn't often I went out of my way to drive like an asshole.

One, two, three, four.

It was about four miles from my shithole house before I realized I hadn't moved. Some semi-truck was trying to get in front of me. Wanted to. I was already midway up his trailer. The blinker was flashing, ticking seconds off of my life.

_Five._

I thought it was fairly obvious where I was.

_Four._

But then he was moving.

_Three_

Just edging right. My fingers were scrambling on the wheel, bound together in a ridiculous mitten-shaped prison. Horn. _HORN._

_Two._

The button was popped out. I pushed, but nothing happened.

_One._

I was turning the wheel, trying to swerve out of the way by time we finally made contact, and that little bump that felt so light pushed so hard, and I was slamming into the guard rail.

There it was.

The airbag deployed so fast I wasn't sure what exactly had hit me and by time it dissolved away I was hurtling backwards. I stomped blindly, but didn't hit the brake in time.

Something had hit the back end and I was skidding in a whole new direction with no more safety features to obscure my vision. Glass exploded out of the right side of the car, but I couldn't hear it break, only the sickening crunch of crushed metal. I was still rolling with the force of the hit, now dragging this new addition of metal hooked to my car.

Chemicals and melted plastic. The dashboard was completely detached, sitting in my lap. My hand was tingling unpleasantly, probably a chemical burn from the airbag, peppered with broken glass. I couldn't fish out my arm from under the plastic to be certain.

Reaching across my body with my right arm, I struggled to unlatch the door, but found it jammed closed.

That was why they made two.

My elbow wrapped behind the headrest of the passenger seat, and I pulled, but nothing happened. I heaved again, this time managing to re-acquire my left arm, but for some reason was still stuck.

It occurred to me briefly that my legs didn't hurt. They didn't anything.

And my heart stopped in my chest as my mouth opened in horror, allowing the blood spewing from my most likely broken nose in for me to choke on. The hood was slammed up into what was left of the windshield. I couldn't see what was left of the front end of the car, but it couldn't have been much.

All of that metal had to have gone somewhere.

Under that dashboard I couldn't see somewhere.

There was nothing to be done.

I had the decency not to laugh, pinned to my own ridiculous destruction, choking on blood and fumes, hopelessly picking glass shards out of my bad arm. It seemed inexplicably darker, unrealistically quiet, infinitely long.

How long would I have to stew in this mess?

And then came that horrible screeching. Metal on metal in long, terrible notes, each punctuated with a loud snap. I had to look out the window.

It seemed so much smaller.

A mass of black, moving behind a spiderweb of cracked glass. Deep voices. Dark uniforms.

Police?

It stopped after a while. The screech-snap, screech-snap, screech-snap. Whatever they were trying wasn't working. And then there were just shadows moving and shouting outside my prison.

_CRACK._

I ducked before I was sure what was happening.

But then it came. The crystal clear sound of glass shattering, the singular feel of it raining across my skin, leather wrapping around my bicep.

I had to look.

"Fair, you fucking idiot!"

It was a glove.

With a hand in it.

I followed it up a pale arm to a uniform I'd never seen before, worn by a face far too young. My age, at least. He had unnervingly bright blue eyes and ridiculous styled black hair and the serious tone in his voice sounded so foreign, yet so genuine when he promised, "It's okay. I'm gonna get you out of there."

It was terribly rude, but I couldn't think of anything better to do than stare at him.

He gave a tug. "Do you think you can crawl through the window?"

I shook my head dumbly before I'd had a chance to properly think about the question. Then it occurred to me. "My leg's stuck."

He nodded once, and I could hear the rest of them muttering behind him. He never even pulled his head back out, just crawled right through, tumbled right over the dash and I had to pretend I didn't wince at the pressure.

Everything suddenly felt ten times heavier, awkward, different as he righted himself.

"How the hell did you squeeze yourself in here?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to ask just what the fuck he was talking about, but another head had popped through the window.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he had the same eerie eyes, but his hair looked more practical and was a soft shade of brown.

"Nevermind," the first man ordered, just help me get this plating off of her. I thought they meant what was left of the dashboard, but it was getting even darker, too hard to see. Either way, something large and vaguley rectangular went up and out the window.

Leather hands were pulling at my legs before I knew what had happened and suddenly I _felt,_ and they _hurt._ I could scream pretty loud.

"The fuck, Zack?!" the man in the window was yelling.

His head popped up for three seconds. "If the main core's crushed what's going to happen to the rest of the reactor?" The man in the window didn't answer. "We have ten minutes tops before this thing blows."

And he was down again, and I was screaming, and I'd grabbed the man in the window's arm at some point.

"Okay, Kunsel, pull her out."

And then I was being dragged over the glass left in the corners of the window, and leather hands, soaked in my blood were pushing me out. Out into a world of metal grating and electric-tainted steam. A world that wasn't I-96. A world that didn't include a shitty Buick.

Zack had hopped out behind me and was pulling me off of Kunsel and up onto his shoulder, like I was his prize, or his responsibility. I don't know.

It was so dark.

And we were running.

And there was so much screaming.

I've never been sure when the spinning all stopped, if it ever did.


	2. entry002.pdf

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>>Welcome to Shinra Online Database!

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>"kalm district reactor" "shinohara, hikou"

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>>Damage Report on Kalm District Reactor 34

>>2\. Estimated Rebuilding for Kalm District Reactor 34

>>3\. field_reports/Inv Mission Reactor 34/ID_8884654: Kunsel, Ikari

>>4\. witness_reports/Inv Mission Reactor 34/Unknown Female

>>5\. field_reports/Inv Mission Reactor 34/ID_3267554: Fair, Zack

>4

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>>Unidentified human female retrieved from Reactor 34 core, post-collapse, by SOLDIER unit 7-d. Female suffers heavy bruising, unidentified burns, and mild mako poisoning. Female marked for interrogation regarding recent terrorist activity in Midgar area and held at Shinra Head Offices. SOLDIER ID 3267554: Fair, Zack assigned to case under Lt. Angeal, no progress made. Subject will be tagged for mako testing if progress standards are not met by specified date. 23.87.#$(@

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>>1\. Shinra Times: Unidentified Terrorist Taken into Custody?

>>2\. Hojo.casefiles.pdf

>>3\. SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry002.pdf

>>4\. Department of Midgar Security/Interrogation_POWs/Terrorists

>3

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entry0002.pdf

 

There was no one waiting for me when I woke up, and it seemed that was the only thing I could inherently feel.

It seemed so unnaturally logical. Who the hell would be here? But it just seemed so easy to assume that there had been people when it had gone dark, there would still be people when all that spinning finally ceased.

But there were no people, only a sickeningly grey hospital room.

And that's how I knew I was in trouble.

Because hospitals were supposed to be glaringly white and painful, They were meant to be bright and sterile and uncomfortable and smelly--not that this place wasn't uncomfortable and smelly, because it was. Just not in the fashion it should have been. It smelled like sweat and formaldehyde, not like industrial strength cleaner and sickness.

The bed felt about the same, though. Metal and thin. They might as well have laid a packet of tissue on the floor and dumped me on it for all the comfort it was worth.

I had no hospital gown. Just my tattered clothes, smelling of sweat and tears that were not entirely my own, covered in blood that was. The sleeve had been ripped from my shirt, my arm bandaged.

My legs.

 _My legs_.

Idly, I swung one over the side of the bed and tried not to cry at the shock of it actually responding. Small favors, I suppose.

The jeans were pretty much useless, long strips of fabric hanging loosely from the knee down. I looked like a castaway.

I was a castaway.

The walls were metal. Solid and flimsy. They felt like they were made of aluminum. If I had a knife I didn't doubt I could rip through one like a can-opener.

But I didn't.

There was no mirror, but I could see the wavy reflection of myself in the wall--discolored, unattractive. My face felt numb, so I assumed it was pretty well swollen. A bruise the size of a beachball stretched from my bicep to my forearm, speckled with tiny red cuts.

Glass.

Well, at least one thing made sense in the Grey Hospital.

My hand had on odd-looking red pattern of welts across its back. Chemical burn. Right. My leg was a mass of garish green and purple, right down to my bare foot. It hurt to stand, but I wasn't incapable, and I didn't like the feel of my feet sticking to the aluminum floor, but I managed.

The door was locked.

I thought the door was locked.

There wasn't really a handle to try, no dippet to try to slide the thing to the side, no keyhole even. Only a simple red light adorned the barely visible rectangle cut out of the wall, flashing periodically to let me know it hadn't forgotten about me yet.

I sat on the floor and counted the blinks. I'd made it to forty seven before the thing rattled upward. It was intimidating, yet cheesy in a way that I expected the fog machine to start rolling, the lighting to switch, and illuminate some horrifying dark figure in its wake.

But I was left disappointed. It was only Zack, smiling and waving with a card grasped in his gloved hand.

"How are you feeling, champ?" It was the sort of thing you'd expect a guy like Zack to say. No, it was the way you'd expect a guy like Zack to talk. I secretly wondered if he hadn't fallen into stereotype vulnerability. "That good, huh?" And it was too late to answer.

He looked decidedly less intimidating this time around, and somehow decidedly less dependable. The sword strapped to his back was missing, and his midsection looked indescribably bare. My mind couldn't quite conjure up what had once been strapped to the over-sized belt wrapped about his waist, but it could certainly assure me that things were missing. He didn't jump when the door whomped back down behind him and he didn't flinch when the light skipped mid-blink from green back to red.

Off-putting.

I hadn't moved yet. My feet were still stuck against the metal floor about four feet from the back wall, three feet from the corner, another five feet to run to the door--if the door would've opened. I couldn't remember why it was important, but I didn't want to be backed into the corner, and it was good that he keep a decent distance from me.

His stance was awkward. His legs were a decent distance apart--knee slightly bent, as if he might need to spring into action--but his arm was nervously scratching at the back of his neck, and his expression was anything but threatening. I couldn't remember why I should be so scared.

"So much for tearful thank-yous, eh?" he laughed out. If it was a hint, I was late on the uptake. "Do I at least get to know your name?" It felt like a need-to-know basis, and he could only laugh nervously for so long. "Well, anyway, I'm Zack."

"I know."

"Oh." I almost felt guilty, or maybe my apprehension was just sinking a bit. I couldn't tell the difference. Regardless, he sat on the worthless bed in a dejected fashion. "Well, I'll get right to the point then." I appreciated the thought. "It doesn't really matter who you are, all Shinra wants to know is how, and for Odin's sake _why_ , you crawled into the reactor core."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

"We know you didn't break it," he insisted. _We won't be mad,_ was left unspoken. "There was a structural defect in the higher support beams that led to the collapse onto the core, which--well, it doesn't really matter."

But the words still didn't make any more sense. Brain damage, I supposed, from the wreck. There was some sort of gap between a shitty Buick and some core that I was missing. Just a tiny piece. Ten seconds long at most, but long enough to ruin everything.

I had nothing to say to this man.

He stood back up. "You're not going to get out of here very fast with that attitude." No answers for his questions, but certainly not _nothing._

Red. Red. Green.

"Thank you."

He hardly had the time to glance back over his shoulder at me. I only saw one blue eye widen in surprised before the metal crashed down again.

Red. Red. Red.

It wasn't a hospital at all.


	3. entry003.pdf

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>>1\. Hojo.casefiles.pdf

>>2\. inter_reports/HQ Mission 645/ID_3267554: Fair, Zack

>>3\. Injection Results: Date 45.34.($#*

>>4\. STATUS_UPDATES/Unknown Female_R34

>>5\. field_reports/Inv Mission Reactor 34/ID_3267554: Fair, Zack

>4

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>>Unidentified human female retrieved from Reactor 34 core has been taking into custody for mako testing, marked as subject B. Blood tests reveal high levels of unidentified minerals in blood stream and no trace of MP rendering magicite. Mako administration has left severe fatigue on subject B, but no other noticeable symptoms. Subject A [unidentified male F_12] has been reported with high levels of magicite and has recently expired upon equal dosage of 500mg mako daily. Control subject C [SOLDIER 2-9986573] has been exhibiting signs of severe mako poisoning under same injections. 23.94.#$(@

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entry0003.pdf

I'd never been in jail before. It was a tolerable existence.

It was a lot like not being in jail at all.

It sounds terrible when you say it out loud, but it doesn't take much imagination to stretch a dingy mattress pad into a twin-sized bed, and there's not a great amount of effort spent closing your eyes and pretending its just so bright because you're too lazy to get up and close the window's shade. If I laid there long enough I could almost hear the shitty music blasting out of the stereo.

Because I was the type of person who kept shitty music, just to keep the set together.

People came and went as people are wont to do. A young man in a white coat stopped by now and again in a sense of regularity I was no longer a part of to stick a needle in my arm and swap some green-blue shit for a syringe of blood, a young woman in a white coat left trays of god knows what by the door.

I would've said hospital food, but I suppose it was prison-food. Either way, they both were about par with dog food.

I can't remember a lot of what I thought about. I must've thought about home or work. I must've wondered if they found the car without me in it. If they thought I was just pulverized in the wreckage. If they thought I was kidnapped. If they even thought about me at all.

It would have been the logical thing to do.

I don't remember thinking any of those things.

I remember ghosts in white flitting about my bedroom, messing up my things, and being too tired to get up and shoo them out. I remember talking to men who weren't really there. I remember when I realized how quickly my bruises had faded, how much time must have passed. I remember the first time I broke my own finger.

I hadn't meant to. I don't even really know how it happened. I was scratching the last remnants of an odd pinkish paint off of my finger nail, and I'd gotten myself stuck on squeezing my knuckle. I don't know why.

And then crack, that was the end of that.

I wasn't sure how it should've been physically possible because in all actuality, it shouldn't have been.

I was too awed to cry about it and too proud to tell anyone, but the ghosts figured it out anyway. They can smell pain. It was what they fed on. They came and stuck their metal all about it and wrapped it in their white gauze so they could recognize it whenever they walked by.

The light had not flashed red for five seconds before I'd ripped it to shreds. A tattered bird's nest of bandages piled at the foot of the mattress, an equally tattered pile of steel next to it, shredded like confetti. Beautiful and amazing. I threw it in the air to celebrate, reveled in the clattering sound it made when the little chunks scratched across the aluminum flooring.

She ran back in too soon to know what had happened, but she had.

The ghost stared at me with a sick sort of satisfaction on her face. I stared through her.

Sub-human.

"Excellent," she said to someone I could not see. "The new dosage levels are working perfectly. I think we may have finally found the new injections, professor!" She spun on her heel and was picking up pieces of confetti off of the floor. The wire man in her ear was buzzing back at her. Instructions, congratulations.

I didn't know.

I didn't care.

She didn't hear me get up. She didn't hear my feet squeak when they pulled away from the floor.

"Well, if the lack of magicite in her blood is what's allowing the mako to concentrate in her muscle tissue then perhaps we can find a way to remove the mineral from the rest of the SOLDIERs as well." Chips clinked against the floor as she picked them up. Too loudly to hear me breathing down her neck, close enough to hear him buzz now.

"... alter entire dietary functions... simply not possible... properties between magicite and mako are virtually the same... generating to destroy... both..."

"Well, yes, I know, but at least it's something to work."

I assume she would've said "for."

Maybe "to."

Perhaps there was a long an intricate dialogue I would've wanted to hear. About magicite and mako and bloodstreams and blue-green injections and samples. Maybe she had a very witty joke to end with.

The world would never know because I had her next word trapped under my palm, stuck in her throat. She was trying to gasp, but there simply wasn't room to do such. I'm not sure why my hand closed the way it did when I already knew how much damage had been done. I suppose it was the same reason I'd lain in bed and poked my own bruises for god knows how long. The same reason I didn't let go when I heard her throat crunch and her eyes bugged out.

The first person I ever killed was named Amelia. She was a LAB ASS. at SHINRA INCORP.

It wasn't a milestone for anyone but me. Amelia the LAB ASS. never had a funeral. Amelia had no eulogy and no obituary.

She went down in history as HQ CASUALTY NO. 4,745, ID 3-4598887, and no one cried for her. Not even me.


	4. entry004.pdf

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**> 1**

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**> >1\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Classes 6-4**

**> >2\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Class 3**

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**> search "SOLDIER" "shinohara, hikou" "casualty reports"**

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**> >CASUALTY REPORT, MISSION CODE 8-446, JUNON AREA: Nakayama, Hiro [SOLDIER 5CLS, ID_9-2234354], Mason, Carter [SOLDIER 4CLS, ID_0-2235438], Shinohara, Hikou [SOLDIER 4CLS, ID_5-8246471]. DETAILS: Classified. SURVIVORS: Not to be notified.**  
  
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**> >1\. TURKS/PeacekeepingDIV/MSN_8-446/TERRORISTS.pdf**

**> >2\. SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry004.pdf**

>2

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entry0004.pdf

They really shouldn't have been rewarding this sort of behavior.

And sadly, with that sick grin plastered to my face, that was the only thought I was capable of spinning. A swirl of confused guilt was wearing away at my stomach-lining, trying to convince me that I should feel for killing this ghost that had already been dead. My mind was replaying the scene backwards, ten times over in my head.

How easy it had been to just close my fist, the way you could think of it on a kitten's head. Immoral, but possible.

 _No, wrong!_ It would shout.

I should've had tears in my eyes--tears to match hers, from the effort and pain of killing someone. I should've dropped her like a doll in horror. I should've screamed in terror when her head lolled to the side the way it did. I should be convinced I was awful, sinful, dirty. I should be scratching my skin off with the effort.

I hadn't.

I'd dropped her like a cat would drop a dead mouse. She was broken and grotesque, but still almost cute, and I was bored and nothing more. I ripped the name badge off of her breast and stalked off like some sort of too-small wildcat to sit on my mattress and preen over my prize.

It took longer for the door to reopen than when I tore the steel splint to shreds, and that told me everything I needed to know about the priority of SHINRA INCORP.

I didn't get up when I heard the metal shudder in on itself, the tromp of boots stomping against the aluminum flooring, the click, click, click of whatever number of guns pointed at me. My arm wrapped underneath my neck, my other holding up the little id tag for examination, trying to remember the digits. Three four five nine eight eight eight seven. Three four five nine eight eight eight seven.

I noticed a little late, but a pair of familiar blue eyes were staring at me from behind the barrel of a nasty looking weapon. Two were collecting their dead. I tried to pretend I couldn't feel these metal-clad monsters judging me, that it wouldn't matter, they'd just sink back into the metal floor where they belonged anyway.

I threw the tag at their feet, useless, and said, "You missed a spot," as they carried three four five nine eight eight eight seven out.

They took me here.

To this nice office. With this nice leather chair. And this nice red carpet.

I knew it was nice because I still didn't have any shoes.

There was a rather nice-looking man to go with it. He had long brown hair, and his face was marred with two long scars, stretching from his nose to his jawline. He had rough-looking facial hair, like you'd expect a samurai to have. He looked aged, and wise, and undeniably strong, and so very, very out of place in that sharp-pressed blue suit.

His posture was very severe, as was his expression. He was an inescapable statue of what authority should be.

But I was much too far gone to recognize it.

"Subject B." I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a greeting, or not. If that was mean to be me, or not. He said it the way you'd say a name. "Are you aware of what you have just done?"

"Three four five nine eight eight eight seven."

There was that half second of bewilderment in his eyes, some lost emotion between fear and confusion wiped away before I'd gotten the chance to properly admire it. "President Shinra now has a broken reactor and a dead scientist, and a fully functioning lab rat with absolutely no answers for him, one way or the other." I think my heart stopped. "What use are you?"

"Apparently, none," I responded, visibly shaken and notably affronted. "How about you?" I returned, evenly. "Have you got yourself a pretty number to prove your worth as well?"

I think he was a little startled I wasn't completely mad, and a small, "Yes," slipped out of his mouth before he had time to harden it accordingly. "Would you like one?"

"What?"

"A number," was the reply. Plain and simple. There was a folder prepared neatly in his hands. A complied stock of numbers and letters I might call my own. Concrete, complete documentation of who I might be. A sweet little identity they had stolen just for me.

In retrospect, they must've been planning it for a while.

I took it from him the way you'd accept a time bomb and opened it with the care you'd take to disarm one. Shinohara, Hikou. SOLDIER Class: 4 [pending transfer request]. EMPL ID#5-8246471.

I wondered for a moment how five eight two four six four seven one had died. Why it was so imperative they cover up her place. How it would feel to be a dead woman.

"You will be upgraded to third class, retrained to all SOLDIER functions, given an admirable paycheck, and a place to stay." The word _identity_ swung in the ether above us. "Do you accept?"

"What's your number?" I asked again.

He replied, "Veld," without thinking.

I couldn't help but smile. "Fine, then."

"Well, then, Ms. Shinohara, I shall see you out."

I felt every part the wide-eyed child, bare feet scuffling behind this man in all his authority and respect, all his strength and poise. It would be a lie to say I wasn't jealous, and it would be a lie to say that when he passed me into Kunsel's waiting hands and shut that loud office door I wasn't the least bit upset.

I was being inducted into this world of metal and static, a bare-footed little girl already with blood on her hands, when I wanted nothing more than to stay right there. People pushed by, papers in hand, rushing to somewhere they imagined was important, but as hard as I looked I couldn't see their faces. My eyes were locked to the gold letters scrawled across the door, _VELD, Head of Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department, ABV: TURKS, DIV: Peacekeeping._

Strength and pride. Sureness. There had been no doubt on his face.

I wanted that.

I left a dream in that office, and I'm sure there was a girl pulverized in a car wreck somewhere that was rolling over in her grave.


	5. entry005.pdf

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**> "year: 89" "3rd class recruits"**

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**> 1**

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**> >1\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Ellis, David_ID0955622**

**> >2\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Kelling, Samuel F._ID2311111**

**> >3\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Yamaoka, Minoru_ID7668900**

**> >4\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Fair, Zack_ID3267554**

**> >5\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Shinohara, Hikou_ID8246471**

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**> 4**

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**> >SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Fair, Zack_ID3267554/Soldier ID No. 3267554, Zack Fair, has been recommended for transfer by Lt. Ivan Richter after admirable services performed for 1 year(s). Candidate has displayed particular efficiency in combat, structural knowledge, leadership, and decision-making skills in Mission 34-16 involving Kalm Area Reactor 34 and Subject B-89. Promotion approved as of: 1.13.89**

**> >This article is crossreferenced with 2 other files. Press "M" for more.**

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**> >1\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Shinohara, Hikou_ID8246471**

**> >2\. SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry005.pdf**

**> 2**

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entry0005.pdf**

****SOLDIER, they called it. It was printed everywhere. Bolded, capitalized across all of the paperwork. Countless signatures and release forms had been stamped.

SOLDIER.

**SOLDIER.**

** SOLDIER. **

****Overinflated and intimidating in its own right. The entire department was bolded and capitalized. These boys--some no older than fourteen--walked around like peacocks parading their feathers, chests puffed out past their chins and rifle in hand. No one turned to stare at the barefooted girl, who--only hours before--had murdered a woman in cold blood. I was not special here.

I hated it.

Kunsel lead me through the motions with an ease so natural, I had to stop and wonder how many more Hikous had come before me and, further more, how many more might come after me.

The sheer size and versatility of the building was a mystery to me. For all I'd seen of it, we could've been underground. It certainly was structured that way. These long twisting hallways, covered in nothing but sheet metal, these armored men, running around like rats. It was like being in an over-sized hamster cage.

But somewhere above me was that plush-carpeted office, where all of those grey-suited, faceless men and women scurried from side to side. It felt that they should move more like rats.

Uniforms were retrieved, keycards requested, access codes granted and denied. Office to office my worth was evaluated, given a price, and recorded. Pretty young women, sitting behind desks, asked all the appropriate questions. Your name, your age, your file number. Your height, your weight, your eye color. Their keyboard clicks annoyed me, and their rewards were less than gratifying. _Standard issue: Hardedge, available 16th this month. Standard issue: 3rd class uniform, available 5 PM today. Standard issue: Shinra armor, available 5 PM tomorrow. Lodging No. 84-D._

Boys outside asked all the inappropriate ones. Who, what, when, where, and more importantly _how_. Their rewards were more informative. _Fair's promotion. Shinohara, Hikou. Same girl? No. Reactor 34 Mission. Ask Zack. Ask Kunsel. Ask Shun.  
_  
And then the red-hatted attendant would show up. _Back to work_.

A slow sort of terror was crawling up my leg, slithering its way around my abdomen and squeezing tight. This was the existence I had brought upon myself, to be one of these nameless, faceless killers. To be lost as a number for the rest of time.

"...training room is on level 49. As of now, you'll have access as 3rd CLASS, but I wouldn't recommend it until we've got you up to speed." I sometimes forgot Kunsel was talking to me. "Missions come in through the main computer system and are sent to your PHS." And most of the time I forgot I needed to be pretending to understand. "Are you getting any of this? If you do exceptionally well on your missions, Shinra has been known to add an extra gift to your paycheck..."

"And exactly how many people does a _SOLDIER_ have to murder to be considered 'exceptional'?" I looked down at my guide--quiet, unimportant.

He didn't answer. I assumed it was because I was still having trouble saying the bold.

But we rounded the corner, away from the bustle of too-young boys carrying too-big guns, and I found myself slammed so hard into the locker behind me I wasn't sure for half a second what exactly had hit me. I would've looked down to see, but Kunsel's hand was wrapped around my throat, holding my head too far up to see. "I don't know what the fuck _Veld_ told you," he started, "but you're lucky no one's actually thought to have you _put down_ yet. We're in the middle of a _war_ and you're crawling around broken reactor cores like some sort of fucking Wutanese terrorist." My toes struggled to reach for the ground beneath me, barely managing to skid across the flood of files I'd dropped. "What the fuck did you _think_ was going to happen?" For the first time it occurred to me to pull his hand off. I wasn't sure if I actually pried his fingers away or if he just finally dropped me. "Maybe you'd better just _shut_ your _mouth_ and be thankful you're still alive; **SOLDIER** , or not."

And with those words, he went stomping off around the corner without me.

I sat there, absolutely bewildered.

There was an awkward scuffle of boot somewhere to the left, and my head snapped to it instinctively. His light blue uniform had already been standard-issued, and I assumed that was the standard-issue Hardedge strapped to his back. His eyes were wide in confusion, staring down at what must have been a pathetic doll of a girl before him, sitting in a whirl of discarded papers and snapshots, numbers and photo IDs she didn't belong to.

For a second, I wished I'd actually had all the effects promised to me, that maybe I could actually just blend back into the grey-metal wall behind me. Then, at least, maybe he'd stop looking at me like that.

Like I was the victim here.

I damn well wasn't.

He crouched down after a moment of hesitation, swept up the identity I'd dropped. I didn't help, only watched him. Once he had all of the papers, he collected the girl to go with them--pulled me to my feet, dusted me off like you would a cookie you'd dropped, and gave me that half-fake smile he was so very good at.

I couldn't look away from the tag pinned to his chest. SOLDIER, CLASS 3, ID. 3267554, Zack Fair.

For some reason, this boy had gotten it into his head I was his problem.

"You're in 84-D?" he asked.

I didn't answer...

"I can take you there," he offered.

Because maybe Kunsel had been right.

And maybe I was scared enough to admit it.


	6. entry006.pdf

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**> >Welcome to Shinra Online Database!**

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**> "second class recruits" "kunsel"**

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**> 1**

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**> >1\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Classes 6-4**

**> >2\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Classes 3-1**

**> >3\. SOLDIER CLASS 3: UNIT 47-B**

**> >4\. EMPL_RECORDS: Kunsel, Ikari_ID8884654**

**> >5\. SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Kunsel, Ikari_ID8884654**

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**> 5**

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**> >SOLDIER REGISTRATIONS: Kunsel, Ikari_ID8884654/Soldier ID No. 8884654, Ikari Kunsel, has been recommended for transfer by Lt. Ivan Richter after admirable services performed for 3 year(s). Candidate has displayed particular efficiency in materia usage, leadership, and training abilities. Particular success in command of 4th CLASS SOLDIER UNIT 24-G on Mission 34-16 involving Kalm Area Reactor 34 and Subject B-89. Recommended for transfer to SOLDIER CLASS 2. Recommended for UNIT LEADER position. Promotion approved as of: 1.13.89 Commander of: Unit 47-B.**

**> >This article is crossreferenced with 1 other files. Press "M" for more.**

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**> >1\. ** **SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry006.pdf**

>1

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>>R-ID_34KALMDISTRICT/employee_reports/SD_TURKS/EMPID#5-8246471/entry006.pdf

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entry006.pdf

I wasn't sure what to do when he closed the door behind him, and the look on his face didn't help any.

It felt more like interrogation than it had the first time. The room was constructed of cinder-block. The bed was a rusted out metal frame and the examining table they passed off as a desk looked as if it might collapse at any given moment. If there had been a window I was fairly certain it would've been barred. I'd no where to run, and I'd no bruises and scrapes left to mask my face.

I edged myself onto the wired net where my bed should've been. My identity was flung on the table beside him. He sat with his elbows on his knees on the stool that went with the rickety desk and observed.

Passive, good-natured, but concerned.

I couldn't look him in the eye. "What do you want?"

He smiled to himself, knitting his fingers together casually. "Really? What's your name?"

"I don't remember." And I didn't. I couldn't remember what they were meant to call me. I knew that I was five eight two four six four seven one. "It's in the folder."

We both knew that wasn't what he meant, but he was nice enough to look anyway and remind me, "Shinohara, Hikou. Age: 18. Blood type: B positive. SOLDIER: Class 3, Unit 47-B." He paused here. "Congratulations on the promotion, by the way."

I blinked at him.

"I should probably be thanking you for mine," he added. "I doubt Richter would've nominated me for anything if I just came out of a demolished reactor with a bunch of busted up troopers..."

I wanted to ask if I won him any other shiny medals, or what that ghost in the lab-coat would've been nominated for if she was still floating around her prison cells, but I didn't. I scowled my bitterness back because I would've felt the guilt this time. This boy was so infuriatingly nice I couldn't snap at him the way I was meant to.

"So, it's Hikou then, huh?"

I didn't see why they should be giving me such a hard time with this. They were the ones who had picked it out.

"Where are you from, Hikou?"

I stared at him, unamused, trying to radiate this annoyance through the air to him, but I'm pretty sure I just ended up looking like a fool. I was embarrassed enough to play along. "What's your file say?"

It took him a minute to understand, but eventually the answer started spilling out. "Well, I'm Zack Fair, 17 years old, Class 3 Soldier: Unit 47-B, born in Gongaga." He stopped for a minute, completely baffled. "I never remember my blood type."  
  
I sat there, absorbing it. The numbers feeling familiar, the name digging through the back of my mind, down into my spinal cord. Zack Fair. _The fuck, Zack?! Pull her out._ Zack Fair. For some reason Zack Fair kept digging me out of my own messes and setting me off to toddle on my way. Zack Fair was too nice for his own good. One day it was going to get Zack Fair in trouble.

And as much as he aggravated me, the thought made me sick to my stomach.

"Say, Hikou, what'd you say that got Kunsel so riled up?" I flinched again at the use of the name. It was like he was trying to goad me into snapping, telling him otherwise.

"Nothing important."

He looked unconvinced. "You know," he started, "Kunsel's supposed to be your squad leader. Maybe you shouldn't be pissing him off so early."

I flopped back on the bed, doing my best to ignore the welts that were forming across my back. Haphazardly bound wires were scratching deeply into my flesh. "Yeah, okay, _dad._ " I really needed a mattress.

"I'm serious," he chided, standing and stretching to his full height. "How far do you think you're going to get if you keep fighting the people trying to help you."

I didn't have what it took not to roll my eyes at the statement.

He was headed for the door, calling over his shoulder. "Kunsel asked me to help with combat training tomorrow, so I guess I'll see you then, Hikou."

I growled as he close the door behind him, before what he said actually registered in my head. Combat training.

With Kunsel.

Who'd damn near strangled me to death today.

My heart sunk in despair, straight out of my ribcage, through my back, and slipped out between the metal caging I was lying on. I swore I heard it splatter on the floor.

He was going to kick the shit out of me.


	7. entry007.pdf

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**> "building costs" "SOLDIER floor training room"**

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**> 1**

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**> >1\. Incident 3-78**

**> >2\. Incident 3-84**

**> >3\. Incident 4-55**

**> >4\. Incident 5-67**

**> >5\. Incident 5-90**

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**> additional search term: shinohara**

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**> >Incident 4-55: Substantial damages to SOLDIER Floor Training Room during use. Estimated rebuilding costs: 40,000 Gil. Estimated rebuilding time: 12 days. Last accessed by: Rhapsodos, Genesis. Last occupied by: Shinohara, Hikou.**

**> >This article is crossreferenced with 1 other files. Press "M" for more.**

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**> >1\. ** **SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry007.pdf**

>1

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entry007.pdf

Being a dead woman wasn't a particularly hard lifestyle to fall into at all.

In fact, after the first week I started to forget I was meant to be dead at all.

After the second, so did everyone else.

I was twisted and jammed until I fit into the puzzle-piece of pet. Zack's trainee. Kunsel's ward. I started not to mind the thrashings Kunsel gave me in the name of "learning." I forced myself to believe they were given out of necessity and concern. Eventually, I think he started to believe it too.

Nameless helmets grew faces and personalities. The other blue suits started warming up to it after a while, falling into the practice of trying to teach 47-B's puppy a new trick, always limping off slightly surprised when she managed to break something substantial. Uninformed, but not unaware. Strange, but not uncommon.

I wasn't stupid.

I'd known it wasn't right.

It always led me back in a clouded haze to some far-off room of metal, shredded bits of steel at my feet. It was new, and scary, and the only advantage I had.

I was guilty how grateful I was at it.

I hadn't a shred of accuracy, or a notion of form. When they'd dropped that little green marble into my hands and told me to wish on it, I'd thought they were joking. No matter how it was explained, or how shiny the piece, it never made so much as a sparkle in my hands. They let me keep it anyway. Zack said I just wasn't focused enough for materia. Kunsel looked like he'd known better.

I found I didn't care nearly as much as I should have.

Because the amount of power I could throw behind a blow was still enough to leave my Captain reeling, and even if I could only hit him one out of ten times, it only took a couple for him to call a close.

Life was routine in the most basic nature of the word, and in the strangest way it made me happier than I could ever recall being.

I became structured into the world of volunteer efforts, an inexplicable hate for the MPs of Midgar, and an unfounded reverence for those in black uniforms--if they even wore the uniforms at all, that is.

They didn't waste much time hanging around the 3rds, so I never really saw much of anyone, but I heard the chatter. It was hard not to. They were intimidating legends to live up to. A man with a sword as tall as he was, the enigmatic soldier who would read death-poems to his victims, and the one who hauled around the great Buster Sword that had never reportedly been used. They sounded like characters out of fairy tales, phenomenal war heroes that couldn't have possibly existed.

So, you'll have to understand how shocking it was for me to see all three all at once.

I don't know why it should've been so surprising that they would be together in the training room. They should've been; they belonged that way--a set, a package deal, only the other strong enough to fight the first. It was logical in a way I never would've thought of. I suppose we all just inherently believed that if that much power gathered together in one place it would just explode.

But there they stood.

Proud, strong, and so intimately human in a way I couldn't bring myself to understand.

They were on their way out, ought to have pushed past without a look back. I paused, mid-track, certain I was meant to step back, or step forward, salute or cower or do something of the sort that wouldn't really matter because what notice would they take, but I couldn't bring myself to move. My fingers stopped worrying the marble pressed between them, clamped into a protective fist around it. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I'd decided their vision was motion-based, and if I stood still long enough they'd pass by me, invisible.

I'd no idea why I found it so threatening.

A pair of green eyes locked on mine, and I would've passed it as unregistered if not for the small, peculiar tightening of his mouth--the semblance of a smile that lit upon his lips, and as if they shared some strange sort of telekinesis all three pairs were suddenly locked on target.

I still hadn't moved, though my hand itched to grab at the Hardedge strapped to my back. My mind was spinning in circles, trying to identify each legend from some hyperbolized fact. The pack leader, green eyes on mine, would've been Sephiroth. The sword at his side more than enough to testify to his name. He looked decidedly prettier than I'd thought, unreal, as he ought have.

The fatherly one was shaking his head, hand on his hip. "How's the 3rd going to train now? After what you two've done to that room..." He had no legend strapped to his side, though, he seemed somber enough to be reciting death-poems.

"She might not have been going there," the third insisted, still. He had no namesake either, but when he spoke I was certain I'd gotten myself mixed up. He wasn't macabre in the fashion I would've designed him, but he had the voice for the job.

When the father turned to face him, exasperated, all doubt was erased. The slab strapped to his back was too big to be called a sword. Baffled with my own, I couldn't even begin to imagine how to maneuver it, the strength it would take to strike with it, and block with it, and haul it through the air with the sort of dexterity a 1st Class SOLDIER in battle would require.

Their roles characterized nicely. Angeal and Genesis, then. And one was on the prowl.

Genesis stepped forward the way you'd imagine a lion would. Every movement was firm and deliberate. Every step was confidently in his territory, even when his hand came to rest awkwardly on my head. His voice was slow and calculated, calm in the most disturbing way. "What is it you were seeking?"

I pushed his hand off without answer. He wasn't tall enough to be gesturing to me like that, and he wasn't old enough to be speaking to me like that.

Angeal laughed, Genesis looked amused for the most part, but Sephiroth was bored.

And as alpha-male it was totally within his power to trod off, sniffing out a new adventure.

Angeal looked unsure for a moment, lost somewhere between the two extremes of Sephiroth and Genesis, before barking out, "Go easy on her," and following, leaving me alone in the glass container of Level 49, suddenly infinitely more threatened faced with one predator as opposed to three.

I'd opened this whole new world of contact to him. I suppose I deserved it when he plucked my fist right out of my possession, pried the fingers away from the orb in my palm. I probably deserved it when he laughed in my face.

"Difficulties with your materia?"

My mouth remained closed. Suddenly, the shame of not having a function so simple struck me for the first time, and the reality of exactly how much I paled in comparison to this breathing fairy tale slapped me in the face. I'd no way to tell him I hadn't the slightest idea how to begin to make the little piece of magic work. I'd no way to explain why I was deficient in this manner.

He smiled his cat smile, and for an instant the world caught fire behind me.

It was only a fake plant, but it was startling.

With an open mouth, I watched the plastic sizzle and curl, bubble up black and collapse in on itself. It didn't burn special, but it was a powerful display for an office where you might go missing to a world of sheet-metal and blue-green injections at any given moment, and the ease with which he executed it awed me, never mind the act itself. Materia as a concept was a new idea to me. I found it unfathomable in the most frustrating way.

"I don't know how--"

" _Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess..._ " I didn't pretend to understand what he meant, but, apparently, I didn't have to. "Unfortunately, Miss..."

"Shinohara." The word supplied itself naturally, uninformed we weren't meant to be talking to this man.

"...Miss Shinohara, I'm afraid there will be no mystery unveiled today, for my cohorts and I have left your training room in quite a state." The marble leapt from his hand, and it took every ounce of practice I had not to let it drop to the floor. "However, I do feel culpable for these actions and extend to you my services tomorrow afternoon in apology."

I stared down my nose at the words, as if they were hovering in front of my face in the arrogant tone they were created. His way of speaking annoyed me, and his consistency irked me further, his dress and his stature, his stance and his expression, every little tick that made up his person made the back of my neck itch in a way I wanted to snap at him like a wild dog.

But I had no training room, and no clue, only this sudden feeling of worthlessness his goddamned articulate person had managed to shove on me. So, I was forced to bark, "Fine."

He smiled his cat smile and walked away, off to find his pack, wherever Sephiroth had taken them.

I scowled at his retreating form, the hate slowly simmering beneath my skin for this legend who thought he could just drop into reality when he pleased and ruin people's days with his smooth speech and his flawless destruction.

Secretly, I was envious.


	8. entry008.pdf

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> "corporate complaints" "ellis, david"

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>>1\. Complaint 5-3: Ellis, David_ID0955622 (In regards to SOLDIER promotional system.)

>>2\. Complaint 5-6: Ellis, David_ID0955622 (In regards to slander concerning Weapons Development.)

>>3\. Complaint 6-1: Ellis, David_ID0955622 (In regards to SOLDIER morale.)

>>4\. Complaint 6-2: Ellis, David_ID0955622 (In regards to Midgar Military Policeman's daughter.)

>>5\. Complaint 6-9: Ellis, David_ID0955622 (In regards to libel concerning Genesis Rhapsodos.)

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>5

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>> Complaint 6-9: Ellis, David_ID0955622: Midgar woman, residing in Sector 8/Upper plate, has filed a complaint against SOLDIER ID 0955622, David Ellis, 3rd Class SOLDIER, regarding slander he has been spreading about 1st Class SOLDIER, Genesis Rhapsodos. The woman claims she is eligible to sue for libel as he is printing mass text messages in the Red Leather fanclub about Rhapsodos and a 3rd Class SOLDIER he refers to only as "Vitamin H." INVESTIGATION: DENIED.

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>>1\. SD_TURKS_ARCHIVE/EMPID#5-8246471/entry008.pdf

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>>R-ID_34KALMDISTRICT/employee_reports/SD_TURKS/EMPID#5-8246471/entry008.pdf

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entry008.pdf

His name was David Ellis. He was a scoundrel, and a pig, and as insensitive as they come.

And, privately, I thought he was a riot.

I suppose there was something really magnetic about it--the most chauvinistic little snot in the department clicking straight to the hip of the only woman in 3rd, but David Ellis wasn't a topic of high concentration in my mind, so I never gave it much of a thought. He wasn't terribly tall for a boy of seventeen, but big enough to push me around when the fancy struck him. His hair was always a mess of too-long brown locks, which was convenient to yank and cheat in fights when the fancy struck me.

He must've been a cute country bumpkin at some point in time, I imagined, but the years in SOLDIER were starting to wear the freckles right off his nose. Standard SOLDIER enhancements did their fair share of work on everybody, but they'd done quite a number on David. Mako transfusions had warped what had once been dark, doe eyes into an unnerving shade of orange, like molten amber--owl eyes. He wore his hair so long to cover them. The standard-issue helmet hardly ever came off. Nevertheless, he still found himself to be quite the charmer, referred to himself as Vitamin D, insisted he'd been the first recruit for 3rd that year because of his _intimate relations_ with Scarlet of Weapons Development.

Half of the boys scoffed and rolled their eyes, but the kid spun a story so well, he had the other half eating out of the palm of his hand.

Secretly, I was still laughing.

It was a great misfortune that when the _tomorrow_ I tried so hard to believe was just a joke bloomed in my own forced anticipation that I was roaming the streets of Sector 8 with one untamed, unchecked, David Ellis.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence to find David and I roaming the streets surrounding the Shinra building. We'd equip ourselves at company expense, hound scared new Midgar residents into buying us drinks at the Goblin Bar, or make the infantrymen stationed about the city miserable. Sometimes I'd just wander about looking for obscure PHS fanclubs to join while he tried to smooth-talk their feminine founders to settle for a 3rd class SOLDIER--he usually lost them when he whipped out all the terrible Hardedge innuendos, but it was fun to watch at least.

To be perfectly honest, though, when we weren't beating the hell out of each other in preparation for some war we didn't understand, and when we weren't puffing out our feathers, preening, we really just spent most of our time trying to pretend we were still just a couple of teenaged kids. It was why we got along so well. It was unspoken that I promised not to ask what Shinra had done with the cunning country-boy that had once been, as long as he promised not to ask how Shinra created the side-show attraction of a girl that now was.

Two teenaged kids.

It was so simple.

It was a wonder more of them didn't understand. Or want in. I guess, it was fun to them. Playing Hero of All the World all of the time.

"Naa, Hikou?"

I tried to pretend I didn't hear him as we passed the fountain, side by side. An ethereal sort of light cast down onto the water, giving it an unnatural tint that reminded me of all that uncrystalized mako they had pumping through the building. I wondered if it'd been designed to appear that way on purpose--a clever trick to glide off of the water, or if this was just a convenient way to dump the waste of our materia development. The MP, stationed just outside of the building doors, was already jogging off on a false lead bathed in the green glow. The first activity of the day had been cleared.

" _Hikou?_ "

I could only tap the keypad of my PHS for so long without answering before he'd do something drastic. This, I could not afford, as the single piece of black plastic was just about the only source of entertainment I had. I won't lie; in the passing weeks, I'd become quite obsessed with the thing, subscribed to just about anything imaginable, stopping anywhere and everywhere in the presence of any _one_ to read whatever dribble had been sent in when it chimed--not because I really cared, but more for lack of anything better to do. I was well-informed, at least.

"What?" I snapped, glancing up from the blue screen for the first time. He'd finally pushed the angular visor of his helmet up, revealing those eerie eyes.

"If someone put a gun to your head and said you had to hook up with one guy in the department, who'd it be?" These were David's favorite sort of questions. His head was filled with hypothetical deserted islands with only one materia, and only one type of food, and only one person for company. He'd polled most of the armed forces on the hierarchy of attractiveness within the building until I was fairly certain he could've had twelve different decently successful tabloids by now.  
  
I returned back to my welcoming blue screen as we passed the stone archway onto Loveless Avenue, too used to this sort of banter. "What kind of stupid question is that?"

His response was to put a finger to my head, his hand shaped like a gun, and grinned. "Don't be ashamed to say if it's me."

I rolled my eyes and clicked out of the Urban Development newsletter I'd been sent. I wasn't particularly sure which dry suit ran the department, but he could never write a decent message to save his life. "Don't get your hopes up." I snapped the device closed.

"Well, most _normal_ women are subject to my manly charms. I can't help that you're defectiv--"

No sooner had I clapped the thing shut, did it start ringing again. I put my hand up to silence the boy and called out a, "Hello?"

_"Ms. Shinohara._ "

And nearly dropped the phone.

That voice was unmistakable and had hardened my blood into some sort of slow moving poison in half an instant, scraping away at the insides of my veins and stopping every vital organ it touched. The best thing I could think to ask was, "How did you get this number?"

Which really was a stupid question. How did someone at the tippy top of the foodchain get the number to a company-phone? Simple arithmetic. I was glad he didn't answer. " _I will be on the SOLDIER floor for the next two hours. You are welcome to join me, should you feel so inclined."_  
  
"I--"

" _I will be waiting, then, Ms. Shinohara."_

It didn't click, but I knew I'd been disconnected. I pulled the piece away from my ear and stared at the flashing screen. _219-63-98 Genesis Rhapsodos._ I realized half a second too late that Ellis was staring too.

"The fuck?"

I couldn't think of a good defense for this one.

" _Genesis?_ You know _Genesis_?" He was practically raving, and I didn't have a single good excuse.

Not that the king of all falsehoods was a particularly easy person to lie to, but I was absolutely pathetic in my disattempt to mask it.

"Are you hiding Sephiroth's number in there too?" I did my best not to look amused. "How about the Heidegger's?" Very serious business. "The President's, then?" In the back of my mind, I still thought it was kind of funny.

He made to swipe at my phone, but I quickly and simply put a palm to his face and pushed. It didn't take much to send him stumbling backwards, allowing me just the opening I needed to take off at a run for the building. "Sorry!" I called over my shoulder. "I've gotta go; important people expecting me!"

I only caught the end of whatever sexual remark he made, which was never enough to get the jist of it with Ellis. I tried to let it roll off my back, the way I tried to let the knowledge that I was in some seriously deep shit roll off my back.

David Ellis was good at hypothetical rumors; he was at least twice as good at real ones.


	9. entry009.pdf

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>>1\. Magicite Properties in Materia Functions

>>2\. Injection 46-M

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>> Injection 46-M: Descript-Injection 46-M is a high concentration of a mineral known as "magicite." While this mineral is naturally occurring in all life forms, levels fluctuate on an individual basis. Members of SOLDIER with insufficient MP power have shown improvement in materia usage for up to a 48 hour period after receiving Injection 46-M. Since the magicite acts as a catalyst for the chemical reaction the brain uses to initiate materia response the increased dosage makes for a faster, more powerful, and more efficient response.

However, recent studies have brought to light that magicite within the bloodstream blocks mako enhancement in standard infusions used by SOLDIER ops. While the mako traditionally speeds chemical reactions within the body it also has been known to directly enhance bone, muscle, and organ tissue. High levels of magicite negatively correlate with the levels of tissue advancement caused by mako infusions.

INVST: Subjects A, B, and C in case 4-773.

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entry008.pdf

It had never occurred to me that we weren't supposed to be there.

It would've been simple logic if I'd actually taken the time to think it over, but I was concentrating so hard on trying to keep all of my organs from liquefying and sinking to the bottom of my boots that I'd never stopped to ask how Genesis had gained access to the 67th floor. Any Shinra Information whore worth her over-priced leather pumps could tell you SOLDIERs only had access to four things: the entrance, the exhibit, their own floor, and their director.

How Genesis had managed to worm his access code to pass into the science lab was a mystery completely beyond me. I followed, blindly, though, doing my best to ignore the slushing sound every time I took a step.

It was all familiar in a terrifying way, a memory that wasn't quite mine. It had grabbed me by the back of the skull and was implanting thoughts that didn't belong there. I could almost see the castaway girl emerging from the darkness the hallway receded into, that sick, satisfied smile plastered to her face. If I stared down too long my feet started to look bare.

We passed the hallway and too many unlabeled crates to count, up a rickety lift that felt out of place this high in the building, out into a decidedly more organized world, but just as poorly lit. It seemed as if the only light came from strategically placed LCD screens, reading off stats I didn't understand.

Genesis picked one, and we were off.

It was more compact that our training room, but served essentially the same purpose. A virtual training center, without the glass case for spectators to watch, and without the eject button.

It was something of a joke.

We'd been dumped in this pre-designed desert wasteland, and I'd been staring down the same ugly, pathetic little beetle for the past two hours, a useless marble clutched in my hand. He was getting frustrated, you could tell. No matter how he explained it, no matter which indecipherable quote he threw at me, no matter how many times he demonstrated it, described it, over-analyzed it inside out and backwards the chunk of rock in my hand was still dead.

He was nice enough to pretend it wasn't a lost cause. "Imagine, if you will," he'd began pacing again, "a very pure, very bright light twisting through the air as white smoke would from a candle." These exercises in self-meditation he was practicing, they were useless too. "This light is the energy exuding from the materia in your hand, constantly flowing, ceaseless in limitation." They were depressing as well as annoying. "All you simply need to do is push this power away from the materia, lift your hand and guide it where you want it to be."

I was tired. " _Simply_ make the intangible tangible."

"Do you want my help or not," was the sharp reply.

So I tried; honestly, I did. I visualized all his ridiculous imagery, and I tried to force whatever energy was hiding away from me out. I tried so hard I was sure my ears were going to start bleeding.

But then there was this sharp clap, and my head felt just that much lighter.

I opened my eyes.

The desert had been replaced with black metal again. The darkened office was spread before me and the pathetic marble in my hand mimicked it grossly. I almost threw the thing across the room. Genesis was still blindfolded by the visor over his eyes, alone in some imaginary desert somewhere. Probably happier and less exasperated now that I was gone. My own blindfold was in captivity of a white coat, wedged carefully between an elbow and a rib.

"Subject B," sounded so much like a greeting.

He was an imposing looking man, this white coat, his too-small eyes observing me carefully from behind his glasses. His long, graying hair was pulled into a neat ponytail behind his back. A clipboard was clamped between his fingers. "Subject B," he said again, and although I'd never seen this man in my life, he somehow sounded familiar.

The metal blindfold was lifting off of Genesis's head now, and it took everything I had not to sprint behind his back to hide. His blue eyes narrowed marginally at the site of the white coat, taking quick inventory of the man, and the assistant behind him, and his floundering little protege.

"This is a very expensive piece of scientific equipment, Subject B. Who told you it was alright to tamper with it?" The clipboard in his hands passed carefully to the ghost behind him. Apparently, they resurrected themselves. She looked so goddamn similar.

My fingers itched.

Genesis was speaking now, too fast. "Ms. Shinohara and I were simply honing our materia usage so that we might better afford this company. If Wutai doesn't pick up within the next few months, they'll have to cut funding again, and that would be just terrible to all of the wonders birthed in this room." It should've sounded apologetic and kiss ass-y, but the way the words came out there was a subtle sort of challenge hidden underneath. It occurred to me they should forever be at odds, philosopher and scientist.

My fingers itched so bad.

"Materia," his interest had been piqued, the challenge left covered in light of this new discovery. Beady black eyes were focused solely on me. "And, tell me, Subject B, how did you fare?"

I didn't fare, but I didn't say that. I reached out a hand for the throat that should've been crushed. He caught it mid way.

"Professor Hojo," but Genesis was brushed aside.

"A sore waste of time, but I wouldn't expect a brainless buffoon like one of you soldiers to recognize that." My arm was stretched, full length in front of him, he grabbed it just above the elbow, fingers clamping tight over the skin. "This girl is incapable of materia usage on her own." The ghost behind him took the visor he'd been holding as well, and was given the sharp order of, "Injection 46-M." She scampered off, out of my reach.

My fist closed.

Genesis was lost some point between angry and skeptical. I was left wishing he'd just blast this freak in the face and get it over with.

Hojo, he'd called him.

I wasn't sure why he was wasting his time, if we were just such brainless idiots. "Human blood contains a number of different minerals that serve as catalysts for biological reactions. Mako treatments designed for soldiers enhance these reactions once initiated, but if never initiated can do nothing. Subject B is devoid of any and all trace of a key mineral known as 'magicite' that the brain uses to progress materia response. Without a substantial level of magicite the reaction for materia response fizzles and dies before its even begun."

The ghost was clopping back now, something shimmering in her hand. I had to look away. "Her body naturally destroys the mineral upon detection, leaving her unable to perform any basic function concerning the crystallized energy, and highly susceptible to attack by it. However, recent studies have shown that the mineral itself is restricting our genetic treatments, blocking the mako out in muscle tissue most specifically. Subject B, physically gains the most through infusions."

Gains beyond belief.

My heart was pumping too fast. It was beating itself out of place. It was going to pop itself on a rib at any given moment. Simple things my comrades could do, I could not. It was a standard infusion. We'd all had it. Yet I was the one who got the awkward stares, I was the one birthed from a nest of shredded steel and the corpse of a lab-ghost.

"Although cellular alteration and mako infusions enhance her other functions, they can do nothing for her body's destruction of the magicite. She is," a syringe of green was placed into his waiting hand, my fist clamped tighter at the sight of her, "the first discovered with this condition."

The needle was in my arm before I'd realized what had happened, and he pushed the syringe down so deftly it was a wonder my vein didn't pop at the effort. "Science provides temporary cures, as always. Highly concentrated infusions of magicite will take longer for her body to break down, leaving her able to participate in materia-oriented combat for a short time only." The needle pulled out.

I looked at Genesis, absolutely helpless, and he urged, "Try it."

Like smoke, veins of smoke lifting off of that little green marble, strands of power I could just pluck off and use. I chose one and threw it at the ghost. It seemed so simple now.

The clipboard caught fire, went up in a blaze. She screamed in a very unghost-like fashion, threw the thing to the ground.

"My data!" this Hojo man cried. I didn't feel sorry. The girl looked ashamed, they went to beating the files out, each one dissolving into ash midair, flying up in a gust of flame. Genesis was dragging me back to the lift by the shoulder, and I was stumbling with heavy feet at the hazy world around me.

Things felt fuzzy. They looked different. Was this what they saw all the time?

The floor was moving.

I looked up for the first time, caged steel barring my exit. I could've ripped it to shreds if I wanted to, but we were on the lift. Genesis was still staring at me. It would've been inappropriate.

If he were Zack, he would've asked where I came from, but he wasn't.

"I--" I couldn't remember what to say. "I know I don't belong, but I don't know how I got here."

A heavy silence fell on my shoulders, and I got the feeling I should've been crying, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. The world was so misshapen and awkward. I felt drunk.

He started speaking, and the space suddenly seemed too small for his voice. " _Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess. We seek it thus and take to the sky. Ripples form on the waters surface; the wandering soul knows no rest."_ He looked forward.

"No rest," I repeated.

The words echoed endlessly.


	10. entry010.pdf

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>>1\. Injection 46-M: Side Effects

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>> Injection 46-M: Injection is used to increase MP reserves in subjects with low magicite levels. Side effects include, fatigue, soreness, headaches, nausea, dizziness, nosebleeds, muscle tension, lack of concentration, and short-term memory loss.

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>>2\. Hojo_casefiles.pdf/subjecta24

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I found it was terribly similar to being drunk, these injections--these programmed chemical reactions, narrowed down to a fine-tuned jolt in my blood. They were draining, and I had no tolerance for them.

I woke up too late in my room, unsure of who I was supposed to be, unsure of how I'd gotten there. It shouldn't have been a new feeling, but for some strange reason it was.

Clear blue eyes were staring at me expectantly.

I didn't ask how he'd gotten in, or how I'd gotten in. I didn't care what he wanted, and I certainly didn't need to know what that stupid look on his face was for.

Pulling myself upright put a strain on my abdominal muscles that I wasn't quite used to. My back ached for some reason beyond me. When I reached up to cover my eyes, my biceps stretched uncomfortably. Every muscle felt pushed and pulled out of place, stretched too far in one direction or another, bound incorrectly in place. My head was absolutely throbbing. It felt as if every nerve in my skull had been dissected neatly and then crumpled back into position. I could count my pulse through my teeth.

"You want to tell me what happened?" Zack Fair asked for what must've been the millionth time.

And for the millionth time I couldn't think of anything good to tell him.

I eased my self back down, fairly certain I wouldn't have told him even if I'd known.

Head buried halfway into the pillow, standard sheet and blanket pulled up to my shoulder, I began to take inventory with one eye. It wasn't half as easy as I make it sound. The world blurring in and out of focus, conserving half of my energy to will all of my muscles from knotting themselves into one meticulous implosion in a series of sentence, while attempting to lay perfectly still so as to fool the nausea creeping up my throat that I wasn't really home.

"Do you know what time it is?"

I was starting to decide it felt less like a hangover and more like being hit with a semi truck. Or perhaps, something like being beaten with a baseball bat some forty-seven odd times. Sledgehammer.

Not a baseball bat.

My pulse had begun to stretch out into the bottom of my ribcage, half a beat off of the one in my teeth.

It had to be a little bit of each.

"It's well past noon."

Standard black leather boots had been kicked off near the door. Ordinary. Standard Hardedge had been tilted precariously between the desk and the wall. Ordinary. Unnecessary amount of uniform belts and guards strung over the backside of the chair. Ordinary. Standard blue pants and mock-neck, folded neatly, sitting on the dresser, a pair of familiar leather gloves resting gracefully atop the uniform. Unordinary.

"Kunsel sent me to come get you."

I wasn't the sort of girl to refold a worn uniform. Sometime between washing and wearing the thing tended to lose its novelty and end up bundled on the floor in a heap, most likely near the bed. Curiously, I edged to the side of the bed and peered where the pile of clothing should have been.

In its place was a mound of scrap metal, various accessories and armors, just sort of flung onto the floor. Materia was still popped carefully into place on the bangle, the power wrist I had managed to gamble into my possession tossed haphazardly on top of it.

"We thought you and Ellis were out and about again, but he said he hasn't seen you since yesterday morning."

How the fuck had it gotten there.

" _Hikou._ "

I looked up for the first time.

"What happened to you?"

Somewhere between the semi truck and my misplaced accessories Zack had snuck away from his arrogant little niche in front of my door to loom imposingly over my bed. I had to roll onto my back to get a clear view of his face, he was so close.

There were pulses of thought I'd lost somewhere behind my left eye. That's where it felt like my brain was hiding them, but I couldn't quite get at it. Something about 1st Class SOLDIERs and rumors that I hadn't heard yet, a ghost I didn't get the chance to kill, a dose of green poison into my arm, clouded blue eyes, words I didn't understand, an eternity of nothingness.

" _Hikou_ , come _on._ Get _up._ " He'd ripped the blanket off by now, and was busy trying to hoist me up and out of bed, a hand wrapped around each wrist. It looked odd that they should be so small in his hands. They didn't feel that small. My head lolled with each unsteady tug. "Kunsel's waiting outside the briefing room for us."

Clouded blue eyes.

I couldn't imagine why, but he'd probably put me here. It was funny to think of one of those infamous three in this nature, candid, human. It made more sense the more I thought about it. Genesis was the sort of story-book man to put a woman to bed like a phantom.

"Zack?"

Having propped me into a satisfactory sitting-position, the boy was busy trying to stuff my feet into boots. Like a toddler. I was too tired to recognize how awkward it was. I didn't ask how I was supposed to put my pants on now.

"Zack?"

He hardly glanced up for half an instant; "What?"

God, but it looked like the ceiling was moving.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

I've never seen a man duck so fast in my life.


	11. entry011.pdf

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>>1\. Inquiry of Former Subject

>>2\. Investigation Application: Subject B/Kalm Reactor Case 4-773

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>> Inquiry concerning former Subject B of EXP 4-773, Hikou Shinohara: REJECTED. ID 5-8246471 is no longer suspect of terrorist activities and is henceforth dissolved from the Shinra Incorporated Science and Research Department. Cpt. Ikari Kunsel, ID 8884654, has requested an immediate desist, claiming further inquiry between departments risks the confidentiality of information and rate of success in missions of the SOLDIER department.

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There were a lot of events missing between the bedroom and the briefing room, but that seemed the manner in which my life preferred to operate, so I didn't delve too far into it. Suffice to say Zack had gotten me in uniform and equipped with minimal vomiting and now had me propped up between the wall and the shipping lockers.

Kunsel had been waiting with _that_ look on his face, but he didn't question. Two other vaguely familiar faces were waiting, too.

Closest to me stood a tall, blonde boy. Sword jittering nervously on his shoulder. He projected the persona of a victim and felt out of place at my side. I couldn't quite remember his name. In my head it was something bland and unoriginal, utterly fitting in a painfully cruel nature, and I suppose it didn't really matter because he was forever classified by the one moment I'd managed to pop a tooth out of his mouth during a sparring match.

And even though the memory made me feel ridiculously secure in my position, it was hard not to think of him as a liability.

At _his_ side stood a small boy I recalled only as Yuuta. That about surmised the extent of my recollection. Yuuta was a quiet boy, who liked to stay to himself and the only time I could remember seeing him talk to another SOLDIER, he'd damn near put the man through a wall. Despite stature, he commanded an intimidating presence.

Zack stood beside him, capping off the end of our poorly-formed line-up, pretending he could still be light-hearted and funny with a mean little runt like Yuuta next to him, sucking all the life right out of the air.

It looked like a mission, but I'd always been forewarned of missions by text message. Idly my PHS slipped out of my pocket, _8 unread messages._

I was too tired for this.

Kunsel was talking.

"...hiding out in the Midgar area. There have been reporting sightings of the Wutai spies in the lower plate Sector 3 area, and we have reason to believe they may be targeting the development plans in Sector 4. Our mission is to locate and apprehend the spies for further questioning at headquarters." The boy to my right was shuffling uncomfortably. "Any questions?"

I'm sure I could have come up with at least twelve good ones, but he was already off again, "Train leaves at 2100 hours. You have until then to prepare."

And prepare, I would. In the best way I knew how. By laying in bed and doing my best to pretend I simply had ceased to exist.

Because the pulse hammering between my gums and my ribcage still maintained a good .8 second difference in time.

Kunsel turned to return to the _actual_ briefing room, presumably to actually plan out the mission we were about to embark upon, and the blonde next to me nearly collapsed from the effort of relaxing his stance. I tried to reign myself in, but found my eyes rolling back of their own accord, an exasperated sort of glare fixing upon my face as my vision refocused on this ridiculous excuse for a soldier. It probably would've been funny when our leader paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at us. I probably would've been doubled over any other day of the week when the boy scrambled so fast to put his sword back at attention that it scratched into the wall with that horrible chalk-board sound, and when the noise of his own clumsiness hit his ears, the boy started so hard he dropped the thing altogether.

Should've been a riot, but it really just made my headache worse, and my dislike for him grew that much more.

"Hikou," Kunsel called, "I'd like to see you in the briefing room before you go."

I really had no choice but to follow. If there was a way to worm around such a direct confrontation, my mind was much too frayed to think of it, and I was simply too mentally exhausted to openly disobey. My legs moved of their own volition, which I suppose was good because I hadn't the slightest idea which order to give them.

The glass office door breezed open and then closed again, and it felt as if it took an eternity for the sound waves to actually strike me. Kunsel had enough time to move himself to the long stretch of a desk in the center of the room, choose a seat completely at random, and sit down. I turned my head to see this, belatedly, still stuck in the spell of the door and the blue uniforms dispersing behind it.

"You don't look very good," were the first words he chose, and they came upon me so suddenly I lacked the time to think of a proper response.

"I don't feel very good," was the mimicked response.

He pulled out the chair next to him; I practically collapsed onto the desk.

He had this concerned look plastered onto his face, and it was familiar in a haunting way. It was ridiculously genuine, nearly to the point it bordered on the line of phoniness. It seemed as if he had stepped outside of the role of captain, but was still admirably performing it in his own way. His posture was slouched, one long leg propped against the underside of the desk we sat at, his hands folded neatly on the desk.

My heart stopped beating.

Cradled carefully between his long fingers was a small glass vile, blue-green liquid sloshing around inside as the container flipped with every neat twist of his fingers. His eyes were transfixed on his spinning art, mine were transfixed on his. "The science department has been sniffing around my squad a lot lately, you know." He sounded at a loss. "...and when they start asking questions, the President does too." I couldn't figure out why he thought I'd have answers.

But he was staring at me expectantly.

My mouth hung open dumbly, my hands were useless in my lap, my blood long since frozen.

"I'm ordering you to take this mission," he told me, "and I'm ordering you to do phenomenally on it _no matter what_ , you understand?"

I couldn't find it within me to nod.

His expression was helpless. Because that was what he was. "I'm a third class captain, Hikou. There's only so much I can do."

The words hit me with the force of a tidal wave, and it occurred to me for the first time in a long time that Kunsel had been the one to hoist me through that window of broken glass.

He set the vial on the table, in front of me, and stood.

Kunsel had been doing his damnedest on my behalf since day one. He'd exhausted his resources on me--saving me, pushing me, fighting me, speaking for me, looking out for me.

Protecting me.

I couldn't look at him as he walked to the door. I was overwhelmed he had no more help left to give.

I was ashamed I'd never noticed to begin with.


	12. entry012.pdf

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>>1\. Urban Development Budget  
  
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>> Sector 4, scheduled for construction completion as part of Project Midgar in a three year time frame has been prioritized as Urban Development's number one project. Unfinished construction has created a breeding ground for Wutai spies and anti-Shinra underground groups. All supports for unfinished sectors are scheduled for completion within one year, and all upper-plate work will be finished by the end of the second year. Estimate cost increase: 1,000,000 gil.   
  
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entry012.pdf   
  
I'd never been below the plate before.   
  
It was disgustingly beautiful in its own warped way.   
  
It held the same sort of rapture that a normal slum did--a natural interest that one would think of in the sense of an attraction to the grotesque, an underlying sense of fear and apprehension--but there was something about it that was shiny and alluring. I was fascinated by the way I couldn't quite catch my reflection in the steel of every scuffed-up, scrap-metal shack, and I was overwhelmed by the sheer sense of adventure this entire new territory of exploration offered me.   
  
However, the smell was most abrasive.  
  
The novelty of Sector 3 wore off in about five minutes because I simply could not stand the stench. It wasn't a particularly amazing discovery either. I had to wonder if these people even got running water down here. I had to ask if the city had actually been designed like this or if all the homeless of the world had just gathered up beneath Midgar to catch her leftovers. Honestly, though, I don't think it would've surprised me to find a 1/1000th scale of the city with little beaten up tents and rusted ramshackle houses hidden underneath.   
  
"It's not all this bad," Zack commented, and I jumped, surprised that he'd heard my cough through the helmet--more surprised I could smell this shit through the helmet. "Three's just worse because all that construction next door's ripped the best of the sector up."  
  
Still, I had to think to myself, the _best of_ couldn't have been that great to begin with, could it? "Doesn't make it smell any less like piss."   
  
"Doesn't make you any quieter," Yuuta whispered, more to himself than to anyone of us.  
  
"Feeling homesick, are we, you little runt--"  
  
" _Hikou_ ," Kunsel hissed.   
  
And my teeth audibly snapped back together.   
  
"This is a _stealth mission_ ," he barked, "and if I have to tell any one of you again I'll simply send you back to headquarters and report it as failed, _do you understand me_?"   
  
I wanted to tell him that he was being louder than the two of us combined, and that Yuuta'd started it anyway, and that he sounded an awful lot like a father ready to _turn this car around right now, I'm serious_ , but I decided it was best just to keep my mouth shut. The small boy in front of me, it seemed, decided to do the same, carefully sliding his hardedge back into its holster.   
  
"YESSIR," our awkward tag-along shouted.  
  
I had to physically try not to flinch.   
  
It didn't work particularly well.   
  
Kunsel simply walked on, ignoring the outburst, forcing us to trudge along after him, forming an embarrassed silence on behalf of our teammate, as the boy marched forward, completely oblivious to his blunder.   
  
It wasn't long before the oppressive feel of the grey-metal sky above us began to weaken, and sharp neon tones of the setting sun streaked through incomplete support beams. Strong arches of steel stretched out and above us, barring the heavens from our access, and somewhere in the back of my still-hazy mind I thought I might have understood what it was like to have been a slummer.   
  
Minus the stench.  
  
I was so busy looking up, I forgot where I was standing until I heard the soft crunch of boots against gravel. It shouldn't have sounded out of place; the sound had been following our feet for hours, but in half a second I realized that we'd stopped walking several minutes prior. My eyes snapped to what should've been the source of the sound, but the scenery was so overwhelmingly different that it took a few moments for my mind to catch up with me.   
  
Kunsel was talking again, his voice too soft for comfort.   
  
"Yuuta, Hikou," was all he said and pointed to the left. There was no unspoken _don't kill each other,_ no harsh warning, but in a grudging sense I felt like we both understood it anyway.   
  
Zack was shrugged to the right, and the fifth soldier left behind to guard, but more, I suppose, to not get us killed.  
  
Yuuta sprung too fast over the terrain, familiar and certain of his surroundings. I was still left stumbling over our location, our target.   
  
Mounds of dirt were stacked too close in disorderly rows, odd looking decorations claiming each one. Rocks in various degrees of size and shape were scattered between wooden posts with too few words and too few numbers scratched into them. Misaligned pieces of metal were welded together in makeshift crosses that looked perverse and heart-breaking all in the same instant.   
  
It was half an inch off of what it was supposed to look like. There were no statues of saints, no comforting quotes, no flowers to appease the dead.   
  
But you could still tell it was a graveyard. 


	13. entry013.pdf

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>> SOLDIER PROFILE: MIURA, YUUTA ID 5896641  
MISSIONS SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED: 186  
MISSIONS FAILED: 2  
RANK: 3RD  
CLASS: S  
HONORS: Midgar Defense Medal, Shinra Distinguished Service, SOLDIER's Medal, SOLDIER Commendation, MP Commendation, Combat Action Medal, SOLDIER Excellence Ribbon, SOLDIER Good Conduct, MP Good Conduct, MP Expert Rifleman, Overseas Service, Condor Campaign, Wutai Campaign

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entry013.pdf

Yuuta had stopped running so fast it was a miracle I didn't stumble right over him. My feet, somehow pre-informed we were meant to be SOLDIER, angled themselves off into a screeching halt, kicking a cloud of dust an dirt to shroud my legs.

He glared, but I wasn't required to care much what he thought, so I didn't pay it any mind.

He nodded up to the graveyard we'd edged around. It took a minute to realize what he'd meant me to be seeing.

My eyes were instantly drawn to the shadows of Zack and Kunsel picking their way across the opposite border, just tiny figures against the orange sky, standing on the border of the edge of the world for all I knew. My eyes lined each grave, a pathetic shadow of what a pathetic life had once been, but nothing seemed out of place. It was all just over-sized rocks and rubble.

Except...

My hand swung to my chin, flipping the visor of my helmet up and out of my face, and suddenly it was so blatantly obvious.

I wondered how long he thought he could have hidden there. But really, what other choice did he have?

You could hardly see it, if the plate had been completely finished it probably would have gone totally unnoticed, which was probably why the other boys hadn't noticed yet. Just across the line of the glowing sky you could see the cap of this boy's helmet shivering. It was actually a fairly ingenious plan, he blended right into the gravestone, and if he weren't so terrified I'm sure I would never have picked it out.

"What does he think he's going to do?" I breathed.

I couldn't really tell, but it felt like Yuuta'd glanced at me through the visor. His arms were folded across his chest, thoughtful.

The muffled voice came out of the helmet too suddenly. "Hope we don't call for back up, maybe pick us off one by one."

My hackles rose. "Like he could--"

"Or maybe he has back up coming himself," Yuuta reasoned. "The only certain thing is, if he made a break for it he'd be dead in half an instant."

Once again, I was forced to click my teeth back at this boy. He'd out-talked me again, and I had to admit he was right, and somewhere in the back of my mind I might've thought it was lucky I'd gotten stuck with him instead of some overbearing teenage boy who'd decided he was my father. Yuuta, if anything, was intelligent, and he was strong to boot. There were worse situations to be in.

I stared at the quaking helmet.

"What if the others aren't coming?"

Yuuta's voice was unperturbed. "It wouldn't have been the first time a Wutai unit cut their losses."

They were hard words, but their impact felt extremely internal and somehow distant now. There was only one concern to be had at the moment. "So what? We nab him and interrogate him for locations?"

"The Wutai army is known for their endurance under interrogation."

It was exasperating. "Oh, and I suppose you'd know all about the Wutai army."

"Yes."

There was nothing left to say. He'd quite nicely forced me into a dumb silence.

_Exasperating._ "Do we bait him or not?"

"Sure," he agreed. "But if they're not here within five minutes I doubt they'll be coming at all."

Automatically, my hand reached to my pocket, seeking out the PHS there like the good little dog I was. I was already keying in speed dial codes by time that muffled voice snaked out of his helmet again. "Don't do that."

I had to force myself to even look up. "Why not?" This was practically mutiny. "Kunsel's mission leader; he should know what's going on."

Yuuta's hand was halfway behind his back, reaching for the handle of a sword I was surprised his arms were even long enough to grab at. "Who ever heard of a game with two winners?"

I stared at him, astounded.

"I don't intend to have my next promotion stolen by a captain who wasn't even at the battle," Yuuta informed me quite plainly. The sword whipped from his back to point at the sky above him.

"But we're--"

"I also don't intend to have my reputation tarnished with a dead partner." The sword swung straight ahead of him into a battle position. The boy had to have had witch-eyes to see the next Wutai troop scrambling towards the graveyard that fast. I had to prepare myself.

This was wrong.

There was no doubt in my mind. I had been trained to operate within a unit. I had been taught to respect the chain of command. I had been taught that I was completely and totally expendable.

The phone slipped away, and I reached for my sword too.

Maybe, just this once.

He was still a long ways off. There was still enough time, but I had to begrudgingly remember that he was intelligent, and strong to boot, and there were worse situations to be in than letting him call the shots. I think maybe in that split instant--in that completely and totally selfish and effortless decision, he may have saved my life.


	14. entry014.pdf

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>> MISSION MS4-WUT: COMPLETION REPORT  
Unit Leader: Ikari, Kunsel ID 8884654  
Unit Members: Fair, Zack ID 3267554, Shinohara, Hikou ID 58246471, Miura, Yuuta ID 5894661, Powell, Marcus ID 8753565  
Honorable Mentions: Miura, Yuuta ID 5894661, Shinohara, Hikou ID 58246471  
Objective: Reportings of Wutai spies in Sector 3-4 construction area. Investigate and eliminate all potential threats.  
Report: Two Wutai spies apprehended by Miura, Yuuta ID 5894661 with help of partner Shinohara, Hikou ID 58246471, alive, in Sector 3 graveyard near Sector 4 construction site. Prisoners have admitted to other members of their unit hiding within the area. Interrogation scheduled. Miura and Shinohara to be reassigned to follow-up mission.

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It still absolutely floored me how fragile people were. It was terrifying, in a sense, because I might be as breakable too. I didn't feel that breakable, but I'm sure these men didn't either. My wrists hadn't felt small, either, until Zack had nearly crushed them in his hands. Maybe, one day, I would suddenly feel breakable, too, crushed under some nameless, faceless opponent. Maybe one day I would suddenly feel remorse for all these people I ruthlessly broke for no reason but my own selfish name.

For now, though, every thought and feeling was muted, silenced by a reserved sort of panic coursing through my veins. Adrenaline, I think it was supposed to be called. I knew better; it was simply logical terror.

He pulled no punches. It was unlike sparring, different from simulation, an entire different breed of mission than cleaning out monster-infested reactors. Every strike was pure hate. Not for some faceless Shinra SOLDIER, but for a girl who'd lost her helmet.

A girl who'd been bargaining with his comrade's life.

I'd never had anybody genuinely try to kill me. I'd never been the victim of attempted murder.

But we didn't call it that. This was war, and we were only potential casualties. We were taught this, but staring at this Wutai Private, curling lip the only thing exposed under his helmet, I suddenly realized our game for what it was.

Fear, it seemed, did nothing for my combat skills.

My sword swung blindly with a disturbing force driving it. Each blow was so quick it was a miracle nothing hit, and every blow was so inhumanly powerful if one had it would've been enough.

At least, for now.

But none did. His, however, were infinitely more practiced, incomparably more controlled, painful enough to have dented my shoulder armor as I ducked just in time, the long staff-like weapon he used, glancing off and bouncing away from my arm. He swung it back, and I moved to dive to the side, ready for him to swing forward with full momentum, but the weapon stayed balanced on his shoulder.

It was then that I noticed the hole in the end of it.

It was a rifle too. Simply marvelous.

A series of options presented themselves in my head, as my hands spun into motion too fast to have actually had logical orders. The gunfire would come too fast and I would still be tumbling over from my dive. There would be no way to avoid a direct hit.

My body flipped directions, the momentum of my initial jump pulling my legs one direction, while my torso writhed for the other.

If I attacked him first he wouldn't have time to shoot. If I missed it would simply be a more direct hit, a lower rate of survival. A more accommodating ending if Kunsel and Zack didn't make it over in time.

This was why we notified our superiors.

The hardedge skidded out of my grip as my hands groped for the gravel, struggling to cancel my own forced motion. The thought of materia wisped in my mind like Genesis's ridiculous candle smoke. Mentally, I had no time to laugh, but found the muffled emotion cleared anyway.

One hand clawed into the dirt of the graveyard, I reached my other out to grab the booted leg of this man who was trying to kill me. My body, still stuck in motion dragged across the ground, and his body tripped out of motion. The rifle speared itself in the ground, slipping a centimeter, maybe two, out of his reach.

He struggled to climb towards it. I struggled to climb over him to it.

But then he just stopped. All the tension in his muscles retained their positions, buried under his skin, but he didn't move. A cobra coiled, with no attack.

I looked up, face streaked in dirt, uniform ripped in more than one place from that awful, tricky javelin-gun, and the scrap metal buried in this shitty graveyard. I traced my eyes up that dark green uniform, across the straps of armor, up to the back of his helmetless head and the hardedge resting teasingly lightly on the back of his neck.

I looked up, a complete and total wreck, unarmed and somehow unharmed, at Yuuta's glaring face, and somehow found my feet. His opponent was laying a few yards away, a bleeding moaning mess. Still alive, yet hopelessly defeated.

"You're a shit fighter," he spat.

I scowled back. The list of excuses was endless. I was not a fighter, I'd never really engaged a real person in mortal combat, I was still so young, I was still so new, there was no experience, I hadn't the advantages of magic, it shouldn't have been like this anyway, Zack should've been there to protect me, Kunsel should've been there to protect me.

It struck me that none of them were valid--that, again, Yuuta was right.

I could've cried.

But I didn't; I stood and recovered my sword and my helmet. I recovered the fallen green helmet as well. I propped it under my arm like a basketball and reapproached to inspect this man, helpless laying before me.

But I was not recruited to this job because I was a good fighter, or because I was special, or because they couldn't genetically engineer ten more just like me with a little practice.

Yuuta's sword lifted half an inch, readying to swing back into its sheath, and the Wutanese man's hand shot like a viper for the gun. Had I been paying attention I might have seen the millisecond of panic in his dark little eyes while he struggled to untangle his weapon from behind his back in time.

If I were to be completely and totally honest with myself--which, inevitably, I would have to start at some time--I had been recruited because I had displayed the willingness to dispose of people. I was chosen for this job because I had shown a sickening disregard for human life.

The tip of my hardedge crashed into the ground with an out of place squelching sound. The man didn't scream, but I heard him contain it, gulp the pain back down his throat. His eyes widened in horror at the sight of his hand, impaled through the center, the increasing width of the hardedge having left a sizable hole with the force of which I'd rammed it into the earth. Yuuta's eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing.

Perhaps I was not even a decent combatant...

"You'll want to be calling them now," Yuuta finally bit out. "If any more were coming they'd be here by now."

I nodded.

...but I was a good enough SOLDIER, and for now, I had to hope that this would be enough to make my name invaluable.


	15. entry015.pdf

  
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>> MS4-WUTINR OBJECTIVE: Two Wutai spies have been apprehended in the Midgar Lower Plate Sector 4 area. Other forces have been determined to still exist in the area. Through traditional means obtain the locations and plans of the other Wutai unit members.  
ASSIGNED: Miura, Yuuta ID 5896641, Shinohara, Hikou ID 58246471  
RELATED ASSIGNMENTS: MS4-WUT, MS4-WUTFR

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Yuuta and I were probably the most awesomely terrible pair of SOLDIERs in Shinra history.

He was an excellent fighter, and a remarkable tactician, but a despicable excuse for a man and at least ten years too old for his young body--virtually an intolerable partner. I was a terrible fighter, a passable tactician, and every childish whim you've ever had in your life.

But there was something to the effect of baggage responsibility, and success records, and I suppose this was how we ended up tied together.

We'd shuffled both men back to the base in an incredibly awkward fashion, in a disturbing pack-mentality. Somehow through combat we'd won these men's lives, and we stood sentinel on either side the entire walk to the station. It was Yuuta who had to flag down the red-armored guard at the door. It was I who had to rush disgruntled citizens out of their cabin.

When we reached the building it was the pair of us who had to take these prisoners to their holding cells. _We_ were required to fill out their paperwork. _We_ had mission reports to file.

I might as well have made the whole thing up, for what my report consisted of. I'd written them a fairy tale of our supreme logical plan, of Yuuta's inspirational swordsmanship, of my quick-thinking recapture. I left out the part where I'd almost had a bullet between the eyes. I hoped Yuuta had too.

I wondered if they'd check them for accuracy.

They couldn't have because we were summoned to the SOLDIER floor before we'd so much as left the offices. We were reassigned under missions MS4-WUTINR, MS4-WUTFR. They were thoughtless numbers to me. Some sort of follow up to the mission we'd just completed, doubtlessly. Something foul and distasteful I was in no position to refuse, regardless of rights and leave.

I didn't even read the briefings for them.

Quite simply, I was physically exhausted. The mental and emotional aspect of my entire person had shut down some time ago, too tired of being stomped on and pushed aside to stick around anymore--completely and totally invalid. However, some things could not be simply ignored. The fact was I had been rushed into this mission already aching from my last make-shift training session, body still reeling from whatever new sludge the coats upstairs had decided was better suited under my skin, and forced into what had probably been the most challenging fight of my life--short lived, though it had been.

My clothes were still ripped and scuffed, my face was still streaked in dirt and blood, and the strap from my hardedge was starting to make my shoulder ache. I was probably the most banged up thing in uniform to ever crawl back into that god forsaken building alive.

These things held priority, needed to be amended.

But Yuuta was barking orders.

"Be at the registration board in a half hour."

I wondered briefly, who had died and made him leader. I thought perhaps I ought to check our objective for this fine-print detail before I opened my mouth, but quite frankly, I couldn't find the energy to care that much. "Really, Yuuta? You didn't tell me they booted Sephiroth and gave you his job. That's fabulous."

The boy glared, or maybe he just glanced at me. It seemed like his eyes were stuck in that perpetual narrow, mouth constantly wound to that tight-lipped line.

I didn't tell him that I had no intention of being there. Kunsel was my commanding officer and I'd checked him at the door a little less than an hour ago. Somehow, though, he knew.

I've always sort of thought he was a witch.

"The prisoners are being held in the laboratory cells," he spoke slowly, as if he were explaining this to a small child or as if I had some sort of mental handicap. "We only have access to level 50. Someone will be meeting us to take us to the holding cells so we can start the interrogation." He paused, thoughtfully. "Unless, of course, you've slept your way up to level 70 already, though I doubt you're that good in the sack."

For half a second, the words absolutely dumbfounded me.

A slow-moving rage coiled in the center of my chest, constricting around my heart until I felt my fingers go numb from the blood loss. It didn't feel the way it ought have, though. It felt muted, subdued. I could hear it howling on the other side of the door, but I didn't have to answer.

My mind flew so fast I couldn't remember any of the conclusions drawn between "whore" and "Ellis."

And somehow, the name was ridiculously hysterical in a nature I couldn't understand. As if this little stain on my record was all some great big practical joke because David was at the center of it all.

And I laughed. I laughed obnoxiously loud. I laughed unnecessarily long. I laughed until I was doubled over pointing at this confused little Wutanese boy, eyes still narrowed, trying to pretend he was superior.

I was crying by time I clawed my way up his arm and back into an upright position, still giggling to myself, swiping high arches of dirt across my face in a poor attempt to regain the composure that didn't exist. I was simply not capable of the state of mind for dealing with this. I thought, briefly, Zack had forgotten to pack it when he'd pulled me down the stairs.

I'd best retrieve it.

I left.

Yuuta Miura was still standing in the hallway, frozen in the same half-ready battle stance he'd absorbed when I collapsed into what he deemed as semi-insanity, still waiting for the desired reaction of anger and tears, still waiting for an excuse to brush me aside and demand I be reassigned.

He spent most of our partnership waiting.

If anything, the boy was patient. I'll always have to give him that.


	16. entry016.pdf

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I had come to terms with the locker room quite some time ago.

I couldn't pretend there wasn't still a healthy level of awkwardness to it, though, but usually I was able to ignore it--being the only girl in this uncomfortably humid world of men in varying degrees of undress. Not that there weren't other women in SOLDIER. There was a second Kunsel'd mentioned once, and a few hiding in the shadows of first, but certainly not enough to have given them the expense of a separate locker room. I sometimes doubted they actually existed anyway. It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest to learn they were some well-orchestrated company plot to project this false sense of equal-opportunity to the populous, and I'd never seen one in combat, let alone the showers.

But somehow they'd set the standard of _deal with it,_ so I did.

In theory, it sounded too much like a warped trust exercise, to walk completely vulnerable into this hazy den of trained killers and trust you'd walk back out unharmed. In practice, it was more often than not just an insecure gaggle of teenage boys with too many scars.

"They're more afraid of you than you are of them," Ellis had joked so truthfully, and it did give me a sense of control, but it was so goddamn _weird_ when you saw someone you knew walking butt-ass naked down to his locker, and I contracted nervousness through osmosis when someone new and confused shuffled their way in.

So meeting Zack Fair and that giant blonde buffoon, Marcus Powell, in the same instant was like a double-whammy.

He was sitting on one of those lacquered wooden benches, back to the locker, hands folded behind his head like he was expecting someone. The thought never struck that it might've been me. His eyes floated about the room passively, lingering and taking flight on loose whim. They dragged across everything so lazily, I swore it felt like someone was touching me.

It was uncomfortable, and unnecessary, and off-putting, but it made me feel that much less guilty about staring at the way his abdominal muscles flexed when he sat up, for not staring at his face for the first ten seconds of speech. "Yuuta was right; that trooper really beat the shit out of you, didn't he."

It was half a twitch of startled, and somehow a whole new level of vulnerability was forced upon me. Every scrape, every bruise, every goddamned needle-point puncture was left open for inspection, and it seemed like today I was bordering more on the side of purple than white. Moving across the aisle way from the pair, I clenched the towel that much tighter to my chest. I was left only one hand to gather my belongings and head for the hills.

But I had to pretend this was not what it was. "Playing Locker Room Peep Show again?"

I hardly heard him laugh. Pushing the lever up, I reached inside the small compartment for the fresh uniform I'd left there. There were clever little ways plotted out to transfer it from the bench to my body without letting the towel wrapped around my midsection slip away. Dark, magical ways women had been practicing in washrooms for centuries, that involved much twisting and double-wrapping, and related in some way to that awkward series of clasps and shoulder rolls that allowed us to pull our bra off without removing our shirt.

But I didn't have the energy to twist around like a hog-tied fool, self-consciousness aside.

So I let the scrap of fabric drop, and tried to pull those baggy blue pants over my legs in a record-breaking number of seconds.

You could just hear Zack lean back into his original position over the rustle of fabric. "Well, you acted fine. I thought if he'd really gotten you that bad you'd be limping at least a little." His voice was morose, disappointed he hadn't been there to play hero again. This was his favorite game, and it made me feel that much less important to know he'd missed playing it. Sometimes, I wondered if it didn't matter who he'd saved as long as he got to save someone.

I was instantly ashamed of the thought.

The pants had been buttoned by time it occurred to me to look up, and I'd already set to fastening the bra. "I'm sorry I wasn't crawling back to headquarters," and Marcus had finally turned around, eyes wide, mouth open, unprepared and new, and I could feel myself catching the disease from him, "...for ...you."

I pulled the straps over my shoulders too quickly, turned my face back into my locker where it belonged, but he was still too shocked to turn back around. The best he could come up with was, "I always wondered how they got those on."

I would've laughed if I weren't so mortified.

Zack, unfortunately, didn't share my ailment, and his guffaws echoed across the sheet metal panel of doors. I pulled the mock-neck over my head and tried to pretend I couldn't hear him. I'd enough time to pull the suspenders over my shoulders, wince as they rested heavily on the bruises my armor had left over. I passed over the metal shoulder armor, determining it more detrimental than helpful at this point, and buckled the belt by time he finally hissed himself down into a regular pattern of breathing.

"You accepted the interrogation." It was not a question, and suddenly, it all became so very serious.

I shrugged it off, clicking the locker door closed, and picking up my gloves. It seemed a little unfair to slip them on without the shoulder armor, so I batted them between my fingers. "I wasn't aware I had a choice."

Of course, it was perfectly obvious that missions were an accept/decline function. They had to be registered for, they could be rejected without good answer, but it didn't mean that each rejection wasn't meticulously recorded and each excuse wasn't archived for future incrimination.

Zack shrugged back. "I just didn't think Kunsel'd make you do your first interrogation with Yuuta."

Idly, my fingers slipped into one of the gloves, and I had to sharply pull them back out before they got too comfortable. "Heartbroken you don't get to teach me how to beat information out of spies?" It was meant to be a joke, but it sounded awfully true when I heard it out loud. "And he didn't _make_ me do anything."

The blond oaf had seemed to just have caught up with the conversation. In a reverent tone he choked out, "You're working with _Yuuta Miura_? _Alone_?" It was an avid struggle to coax my eyes back down from their position in the back of my head. "I heard he killed a man once _with just his shoelaces_."

And though I didn't doubt he could've, I didn't need to be reminded of these things, and I didn't need to know that this was what this overgrown idiot aspired to be. I would've slapped him.

If he weren't so naked.

And if I weren't so afraid I might contract his stupid.

"Yuuta is one of the top SOLDIERs in our class," Zack shot right back. "His attitude's probably the only good reason he hasn't made second yet, and if word around the floor is even the littlest bit true, he'll have you vomiting in disgust or crying in terror in less than twenty minutes." There was an obligatory pause before he opened his mouth again. "I don't think it's a good idea."

I wondered for a second, when it was that Zack Fair had gotten so serious, or where exactly he had learned to even frown. It was scary in a sense, I guess, but more annoying than anything else. It filled me with a terrible bout of self-loathing that somehow concern on my behalf had transformed him into this _not mad but disappointed,_ pouting, make-shift father figure. For some reason it had to have been my fault that Zack who laughed, and cracked bad jokes, and did squats for fun had to leave.

There was only one way to amend it.

It was impossible to condescend when I ruffled his hair like a child as I passed, and ordered that he, "Don't think too much on it." The gloves slipped onto my fingers of their own accord as I headed for the door. I couldn't find it within me to undo their work.

That tiny bit of protection from the outside world was comforting in such a simple manner.

Really, Yuuta couldn't have been that bad.

...right?


	17. entry017.pdf

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>>1\. Useful Stratagems for Interrogation

>>2\. Shinra Inc SOLDIER Official INTG Rules

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>> OFFICIAL INTG RULES: (1) Personal casualties caused through repercussions of interrogations are not the responsibility of Shinra Incorporated. (2) Damages incurred during interrogation sessions will not be reimbursed by Shinra Incorporated. (3) Medical expenses to Shinra employees will be covered by Shinra Incorporated up to the amount of 5,000 Gil.

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entry017.pdf

 

It was so easy.

_God_ , it was _so easy_.

I knew it was wrong. I knew this was bad and terrible, and I was a bad and terrible person for doing it or allowing it or watching it.

One at a time was how we did this, he'd instructed as I walked into the room. Nonchalant. Not impressed. Still human.

Still the girl who'd ruffled Zack Fair's hair and ignored the fact she still blushed in the locker room.

They'd bring them in one at a time, he explained, they'd shut the doors and switch the cameras from security code to restricted. And here I was, still only listening with half an ear. Yuuta didn't like good cop-bad cop, he told me. These were trained soldiers, and they would know better than parlor tricks and minor discomforts. They would know to look up when I wanted them to look down, he predicted; they would know to say yes when I wanted them to say no.

Follow his lead was the unspoken order. "Don't kill anyone too early," was the one I heard out loud.

And I still had no idea. I could feel the tendrils of this situation crawling up my spine, but I didn't have to look yet. I could hear the back of my mind whispering if Hikou Shinohara was the type to kill prisoners. If she had been before I'd shown up. If she would be now that I had.

I almost wish Hikou Shinohara was the sort of person who killed prisoners.

I could claim I was human then.

I could say it was a mercy killing.

But when they brought the smaller one in-- _Yuuta's catch_ my mind identified, the nervous anticipation that had been gnawing at my spinal cord melted, not into a gut-wrenching truth, but into a giddy excitement, an inexplicable rage. I reigned myself even though I didn't want to.

It felt like job training.

Knowing what was meant to be done and having to watch him do it first.

It was such an odd parallel to make. It was so disgustingly familiar.

They were teaching me how to make people do what I wanted.

Yuuta was precision operated. He moved quietly and surely. He asked only one question. He asked it over and over. I was surprise he even wasted the effort of opening his mouth.

"Where are the others." It was always punctuated with a breathless moment of his motion and always closed with a scream.

We don't beat them like apes, he had instructed me. We are not the MPs, I was told.

We were finely tuned killing machines.

I felt like a nurse, this boy laying on an operating table before me, and Yuuta with nothing but a pocket-knife turned scalpel wearing the doctor's badge. It all started so lightly--cat-scratches at best over already purple skin. It elevated so quickly, right down to his bone.

Things started being removed.

My stomach heaved, but my jaw clamped closed as if wired. My eyes remained wide and though my heartbeat had slowed considerably, there was still enough blood pumping to my brain to comprehend what was happening around me. 

The soldier held a similar expression.

We eyed each other anxiously, the realization slowly dawning that we were both afraid of the same thing in this room.

"Right from the corner of his mouth, almost to his ear," Yuuta was explaining. "Not too deep. Don't cut all the way through." There was a knife tied to his outstretched fist in thin ribbons of red. He was offering it to me. "One on each side."

We shared a look, the boy and I. Words swelled against the inside of my teeth and the pleading bubbled up through my eyes and reflected the question back in his. But neither knew what the other was begging.

"Where are the others?" I begged softly. I couldn't remember when I'd started asking. I can honestly say, I hoped I would never find out. 

He was crying a lot, and I imagined that just made it hurt more, the tears falling into the warped smile. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." It was a mantra that had been devolved into incoherent sobs. The only way I could still understand anymore was the phrase hadn't changed in the past hour. His mouth moved so minimally, so afraid to open.

He did know.

Yuuta had grabbed his hand. This was all I could bear to see before pointedly turning my gaze to the wall. 

The scream was so terribly loud I almost didn't hear it, but I had, and my chin began to swivel before asking permission. 

Gravity pulled the bottom half of his cheeks down, revealing the muscles of his jaw, his bottom row of teeth fully exposed. He was choking on his own blood, and it was spraying back in my face, but this did not seem to matter. He was choking words, and I was ignoring them so hard that it couldn't be helped but to hear them. "Rendez-vous. 0400. 5. Sector 5. 0400. Sector 5." They kept repeating, choking, growing less and less defined, more and more faded.

Yuuta was pulling away from the intercom. I'd missed the order to send him out. I'd missed the call that we were done. He was soaked in red too, his fingerprints left on the white button.

His voice was so quiet. "Sector 5 is an overpopulated area." He might as well have just breathed it out. "Gear up. We're leaving at 0300." Because if I wasn't, I might find myself in a similar room one day.

The door flashed a haunting shade of red as gears whizzed the metal slab open and Yuuta escaped into the world. I caught a quivering glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel, warped and blotchy, navy and red. I couldn't make out my hard set mouth, or my nose, or my furrowed brow, but a toxic glow of green burned gently in the place where my eyes should have been. 

I shivered.


	18. entry018.pdf

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>>1\. MS4-MS4-WUTFR Objective

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>> MS4-WUTFR OBJECTIVE: Two full Wutai units have been confirmed meeting at the Sector 5 Mako Reactor under close investigation. Eight operatives total were released into the city, two captured in MS4-WUT, two KIA, and the remaining four returned to HQ in Sector 0. No casualties. Expense rates to obtain new security system in Sector 5 Mako Reactor pending.  
ASSIGNED: Miura, Yuuta ID 5896641, Shinohara, Hikou ID 58246471  
RELATED ASSIGNMENTS: MS4-WUT, MS4-WUTINR

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entry018.pdf

It was hard to pretend I wasn't bitter.   
  
I couldn't fool myself into believing that excess adrenaline was the reason after 26 hours and 53 minutes of sleep-walking battle, after three missions and two deaths, after seven rounds of paperwork and three rounds of dry-heaving I could not sleep.   
  
I actually found it difficult to understand that something like this might bother me.  
  
 _Monsters_.   
  
It shouldn't have mattered in the slightest. The bottom line was I was a SOLDIER to save my own ass, not anyone else's. What these faceless suits and slummers thought was beside the point.   
  
Should have been beside the point.   
  
But now I was noticing things.   
  
The way that young man lingering outside the building scowled away when we ran past, the way that old conductor had glared at us when we kicked the tram into motion at 3:54 AM, the way the MP at the door to the reactor moved when he shifted to let us through, the way his partner looked at me when I stopped to jam that green pen of Kunsel's into my forearm.   
  
He hardly breathed it, but I didn't miss it. " _Freak_."  
  
And I could try to console myself with the fact that these graceless buffoons didn't have the strength or the speed to wield a real weapon, that half the time they didn't have the aim to even take their opponents down with their shitty grenades and guns, that they were simply jealous, I couldn't deny the fact it was starting to add up.   
  
When I saw those two little Wutai units, cluttered like a cluster of ants around a crumb, trying to figure out how to disarm the system, it occurred to me that I didn't even know why we were at war.   
  
Something about reactors was all I could remember.   
  
The dizzying effects of the injection had kicked in sooner than I recalled last time, and my own heartbeat was hissing over the sound of Yuuta's quiet orders. "Go down through," this incredibly loud, "around the back," hammering of sound, "disarm the spider," almost like, "out. I want to," bird wings, "most of them alive," inside my head.  
  
My head swiveled on my neck to face him, mouth hanging open like I didn't know who the hell he was.   
  
" _Go!"_  
  
So I did.   
  
I scuttled down the tiny bridgeway, and cranked the door open. As I slid through I had to wonder if this disarray of mismatched thoughts wasn't just another side-effect. I had to stand on the last rung of the ladder for thirty seconds, willing the clenching feeling in the pit of my stomach to just _stop it,_ trying to swallow the coughing gag of nothing back down my throat.   
  
When I finally burst through the door two of the six men had already been incapacitated, one of which was lying in a pool of his own blood, head turned too far to the side, under the most massive hunk of moving metal I'd ever seen. It was painted cherry red, like a new corvette, and I had to wonder for half a second if it was supposed to be some sort of joke.   
  
If it had really been a sentient being I had the feeling it should've turned and looked at me in that instant, and there would've been a terrifying and epic conflict between man and beast, but the Guard Spider was just a robot--an oversized toaster, if you will, and so it tromped off to its next victim, probably wholly unaware there was a man beneath it, completely unable to even detect the change in pressure when it's third leg misstepped three quarters of the way onto the boy's head, no equipment to pick up the sound of his skull fracturing in five different places, no sensors to feel the still-warm gush of blood that exploded onto its finely-pointed spider-foot, blending right into its new-car paint.   
  
It didn't look back to see his eyes smashed into his face, or the remnants of his jaw bone poking out of the pulp of flesh that used to be his chin. It didn't have the knowledge to have still picked out his features on the video-feed, anyway, and it wouldn't have known that in a morbid way he kind of looked like a flattened blowfish.   
  
I had to wonder if he really deserved this. If any of us did.  
  
My stomach heaved again.   
  
It wasn't officially addressed, but the older SOLDIERs knew that something was usually faulty in the data decoding of any new guard-model. If you talked to the right people you'd figure out that penny-pinchers in the Weapons Advancement division hadn't taught their beastly metal children to tell the difference between a common SOLDIER operative and any monster you could kick out of the slums. It wasn't that they didn't know how to fix it. There were basic theories. Id tags backed in certain alloys could be detected by the monsters, but the price of a metal tag was more expensive than a man's life.   
  
It was something new to think on.  
  
But the thing was heading straight for Yuuta, trapped between two opponents who had no idea what the Shinra beast was capable of, who probably hadn't even noticed yet that one of their companions was dead.  
  
I wasn't sure how I'd done it. My hand reached out in that silver-screen desperation, while the other reached behind me for the hardedge, and all of a sudden the air was tinged in the taste of static. My fingertips absolutely _ached_ from strain of the bangle shackled around my wrist, and a line of electric destruction shot through my overgrown toaster and the trooper angled behind him. The weapon, it seemed, shuddered to an instant collapse, but the man stood there a full three seconds before his legs gave way. His body roughly jarred as his knees _clanked_ against the floor and his helmet toppled away. I expected his eyes to roll up as he fell to the side, but there was nothing in the sockets but a hot-sick smelling jelly.   
  
I heaved for a third time, the tip of my sword smacking so forcefully in front of me the floor dented.   
  
My body doubled over in a stroke of luck, trying to expel toxins that were too deeply rooted to come out, as a spear arched over my head. Without warning, or more without thinking, I swept the weapon in a large arch to my right, it's sharpened tip screeching sparks against the metal floor. The man behind me _oomphed_ as his legs were swung backward from beneath him and his head smacked solidly into the ground.   
  
My boot crept over his arm as I quickly located the open space between his shoulder armor and the plate wrapped around his torso from chest to back and wedged my sword in as far as I could manage.   
  
Grasping the hilt of the weapon with both hands to steady myself, boot still resting on the soldier's bicep, I doubled over and finally relieved my stomach of its contents. Yuuta was inspecting me carefully, sitting on a rather impressive number of three captures, to my one.   
  
He was speaking, but I didn't know what he was saying.   
  
I was too busy staring at the pinkish goo that I'd accidentally spit into this man's bleeding wound, thinking it looked a lot like the eyes of his companion, a lot like the brains of the other.   
  
_Monsters_ , but aren't we all.   
  
"I'm getting better," I choked through the sour taste in my mouth, "at killing people."   
  
I couldn't imagine what he said to that.   
  
Laying in my bed, tears I hadn't noticed before streaked down my face, I thought that maybe one day, I'd ask him.


	19. entry019.pdf

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**> > MS6-WUT5TH OBJECTIVE: A second surge of reinforcements has been approved for the progressing battle at MT. Koku. SOLDIERS to be drafted at random, forces to be lead by 1st Genesis Rhapsodos, all units to be assembled at air-base at 0400 hours. Minimum requirement: 50 - Third Class, 10 - Second Class, 2 - First Class**   
**ASSIGNED: 100**

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I felt muted, stuck in slow-frame, while the rest of the world floated past me at warp-speed. I was sure it would pass--that this was just a phase, but minutes stretched like hours, stretched like days, stretched like months.

It might've been years.

I couldn't fathom the concept of time anymore.

I still sat that sticky table in that poorly-lit bar with Ellis and Zack, I still smiled accordingly at their bad jokes, I still answered when they asked, but I couldn't remember how many missions I'd been on. I had no count for the number of times I'd jammed a green-pen into my arm for the advantage of battle. I didn't know how many people I'd killed. I couldn't discern the difference between _monster_ and _human_ , it all blended into the nice shade of _target_.

It felt like a defense mechanism.

I couldn't understand what I was being defended from.

Because _myself_ sounded like a stupid answer.

Itseemed so routine to tip my glass back again and again, and I didn't doubt that I'd end up in Kunsel's room tonight, demanding comfort he didn't have, settling for dissatisfaction in some baseness we both tried to hide, I didn't doubt that tomorrow the company would have bound me at the hip to Yuuta until we'd managed to murder more people for them. I didn't doubt that I'd end up in the same bar that night, to start the process anew.

And every time I tried to stop and remember how I'd gotten to this point, or how I'd dragged all these other people to this point, I always recalled how much I didn't care before the thought process was even halfway through.

So it was jarring that on this night, in this place, stuck in this routine, listening to the latest dick-sucking story Ellis could think up, my life would so dramatically snap back into focus.

All three phones sounded at once, and it wasn't alarming at first. This sort of thing happened when you got two or more SOLDIERs together. The chiming sounds of multiple mission statements and company newsletters could sometimes get loud enough to wake the dead. The alarming part was how quickly we all shut our mouths, pushed aside our drinks, and flipped open the cursed little piece of plastic.

_MS6-WUT5TH: A second surge of reinforcements has been approved for the progressing battle at MT. Koku. SOLDIERS to be drafted at random--..._

And it all sort of blended into the same faceless message of _choiceless_.

"Yes!" and "Alright!" sounded almost simultaneously, and I had to shake my head at these boys, practically dancing on the table to go to war. I couldn't pretend to understand it.

And they always noticed.

"Aw, c'mon, Hikou. It says here that Genesis is going to be leading the new troops. You'll get to see your," Ellis had to lean in, balance his chair on its front legs only, pause dramatically, " _lover boy_."

And I didn't really have to think before I kicked it out from beneath him.

"He's right, though," Zack had to say. "We might actually get out of third now." And I struggle to recall when _that_ part of the conversation had happened.

"Yuuta'll probably be coming," the pig elbowed me hard in the ribs. I couldn't tell why I should've _cared_.

"And this might actually be the end of it," Zack supplied, helpfully. "The Director's last mail said we were getting close to the end."

"And think of all the hooker--"

I didn't know why they had to convince me.

The chair screeched as I stood, and poured my last shot down my throat. The splutter of questioning, and who, and what, and where, and why, was more trouble than it was worth as I headed for the door. "'copters are leaving at 0400," I waved my phone at them. "If we're going, let's go."

I've always thought it was stupid that something as blood-filled and gut-wrenching as Wutai should break this dead-hearted chain of killing that was my life, but then again, I've always sort of been a stupid girl, haven't I.


	20. entry020.pdf

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**> > Total Mortality Rates, WW, by SOLDIER Ranking:**  
1st: 1.2%  
2nd: 15.7%  
**3rd: 35.8%**

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I had to wonder why they didn't just ship us in crates, sitting in the back of that dirty old transport truck. I'd managed to snag the corner between the back door and the rear passenger wheel well, burrowed into the thin sheen of dirt that covered the floor of the thing, doing my best to pretend that the dark stains trailing the metal flooring were really just rust.

The dull blue glow of my PHS seemed to be the only source of light in the thing, though I swore the light bulb in the ceiling was meant for more than just decoration. My small space of blue was extremely contained, though, pulled so close to my face it nearly touched my nose, so I wouldn't have to look at all of these terrified and excited faces, so I wouldn't have to see Zack doing squat-thrusts like an idiot in the corner, so I could pretend I didn't hear when Ellis shuffled some poor boy off of his seat on the wheel well and asked, "Who ya talkin' to?"

"No one," was the automated response, and even though he struggled like a titan to wrestle the tiny screen from my hand to see for himself, I had to admit it was at least half true.

Because the replies to my messages had stopped coming some time ago.

I couldn't look at Ellis when he finally wormed the device away from me, and it felt like someone was strategically ripping vital organs out of their place--like a twisted game of Operation--with each subtle beep the thing made. "Kunsel now, huh?"

"He's just worried," I bit out, "because I'm under-developed."

And I didn't have to look to know his eyes were sticking to my chest when he answered, "I don't know about that..."

My elbow shot out reflexively, but somehow his, "Oomph," was less gratifying than it should've been. "Under-trained," I amended.

"So?"

"So..." I didn't understand how he wasn't getting this, or how this subject wasn't at the forefront of his mind. "There's a pretty big chance that we're all going to die here."

"There's less than half a chance," he barked, and I'll admit that when I looked up for half a second I didn't remember who I was talking to, and the sight of those glowing amber eyes shoved me so far off guard that I nearly punched him in the face.

It made me angry, for some reason I can't quite recall, that he did not understand our mortality, that he didn't add up the figures Shinra sent us of death tolls, that he didn't read between the lines of each small victory we made on this pathetic scrap of a country. "3rd class units are expendable, we always have been." My voice dropped to a sacrilegious whisper. "One out of every three of these kids won't be coming back."

Ellis threw the PHS down so hard, I was actually shocked it didn't break, though the screen was cracked in three sharp lines across that awful red emblem, faded under words I didn't want to see. "What-the fuck-ever, Hikou." And he stomped away.

It was over so fast, I wasn't sure what had happened, but then it suddenly clicked.

I'd broken the only rule, the only condition to our friendship.

 _Pretend_.

David Ellis knew if he looked left and then looked right, one of those faces would be ground into the dirt of Wutai, trampled under the machine called Shinra. David Ellis knew I was under-trained and unprepared. He knew that this was serious.

This was why he joked.

"We've reached the fort!" Someone from up front was calling, somewhere in the land of seats and steering wheels. "All troops move out."

I picked up my PHS before it had the opportunity to collect any more damage, and tried not to read that half a message left scrawled across the cracked screen.

 _FR: Kunsel_  
SN: Shinohara  
If you were just going to go get killed, we shouldn't have wasted our time...

I couldn't bring myself to force a smile as I flipped it closed, slipped it away.

I'd already ruined the game anyway; what was the point in pretending any longer.


	21. entry021.pdf

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**> >FORT 27-T: FINAL EVALUATION  
Shinra Incorporated, Military Fort 27-T, Ground Wutai has been determined to collapse from SOLDIER misfire during attack from rebel troops, not structural deficiency in oil container. All families who can identify remains gathered are guaranteed up to a 5000 gil reparation for their loss. ** ****

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entry021.pdf **

It was so much different here. 

The fort was not sheet metal. It was wooden, and breakable, just like we all were, and they broke it. They did. 

We hadn't been there a half hour and those grenades came flying over that impossibly-high fence. The big names hadn't landed yet, Genesis and the two 1sts they'd sent to flank him, and everything was so disorderly and unprepared. The skeleton of a brigade that'd originally occupied the place had no idea what to do with us. 

There were no orders.

They'd simply climbed up to their gun turrets and started firing. 

Somewhere in between the panic of _grab your fucking weapon_ and _run the other way_ Zack had stepped to the forefront, perched, hanging with one hand from the base of the flag that waved that awful red emblem, shouting orders at names he could remember, pointing forcefully at those he could not. For half a second it didn't matter that his uniform was blue, and terrified boys, high ranking and low, grabbed up their swords and ran to do as they were told in the pathetic hope that they would not die.

I had no idea who it was that grabbed me around my bicep and tossed me up into the rumbling door of that large, wooden gate. Most of the visors were down now, but the voice was so strikingly familiar. "Just hold!" 

And though it felt like he was talking for my benefit, the men lined arm-to-arm against the wall gave one unified nod. I pushed so hard I felt as if I were going to break the thing, but I was still bucked back when whatever was on the other side smacked into it again.

The wood didn't last but three hits before that club came swinging through, and that was just enough to scare half the boys shitless. Pandemonium broke loose as half of our holding force sprinted back from the wall, and with the next hit the doors crumbled open. 

It would've been comical under any other circumstance, this parade of sideshow freaks the Wutai army came marching in with in place of tanks and canons--these great purple cyclopses, and dancing masked mountain-lions, leaving a trail of blood and fire in their wake. It looked more like a circus than an army. 

Strong young men snapped and bent like dolls under the weight of the clubs these monsters were swinging, others fell to the rain of bullets the soldiers trickling in fired, more still ran screaming as flame engulfed them from the feet up, byproduct of those terrible prancing creatures. The men on our turrets, turned their firing inward, a quarter of our men fell to our own bullets. 

The man at the gate, the one who had grabbed my arm, he was screaming at me, but I couldn't understand his words. The bellowing echo from beneath his mask resonated against my ears as if he were underwater. 

I had to watch in slow motion, as if I already knew this would happen, as one of those masked devils ripped into the neck of a man at the gun turret, his blood showering down upon his comrades in the erratic beat of his heart. His hand, still clamped on the bar, pushed down as his body slumped lifelessly, and the barrel moved up too high. One last round of firing commenced at the center compound of the fort. 

Where they kept the heavy machinery, and the oil cells required to operate them. 

The man, now intent on seeing what I was seeing, turned his gaze to the building too, flipped his visor up just in time to see that shaky swell of heat rise up out of the building and ignite in a ball of fire that engulfed the whole camp. 

Men dove in slow motion. 

Others screamed and fell to their knees. 

Most didn't know what hit them. 

I could only think that those amber eyes, uncovered and terrified, looked a lot like the fire.


	22. entry022.pdf

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**> >FORT 27-T: EVALUATION - SURVIVORS   
Shinra Incorporated, Military Fort 27-T, attacked and destroyed by rebel troops during a SOLDIER surge, has identified only four first strike survivors. All SOLDIERS identified were ranked third class. Reports estimate that after the first attack by the Wutai army approximately 30 men survived, but only four snuck away before the rebels made their second attack, sweeping through and killing any remaining victims. Second strike SOLDIERS in the surge caught visual in time to switch bases and locate survivors. **

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entry022.pdf**

 

They looked like phoenixes. 

For ten minutes, laying there between a ticking time-bomb of an overheated rifle and a collapsed pile of wood that I think used to be our fortress, this is the only thing I can think about; men on fire, flapping their arms as if they can fly, and God, sick bastard that he is, grants this one last wish, and the force of the explosion eats the oxygen so fast they're sucked into the air like little robins. 

This is the scene that replays in my head. 

But I know they are not phoenixes, these men, these charbroiled bodies scattered around me, and even though I cannot bring myself to sit up and _look,_ I _know_ that they're there because I can _smell_ that sick scent of burnt flesh and hair. These men will not rise again from their ashes. These men that had once been boys. 

These men that had been my compatriots, and friends, and family.

These men that had died for no real reason. 

I can smell the bodies. 

The wind whips overhead, and the leftover fires of the battleground sway in time to its beat. The sun has turned its face away, unable to bear witness to our carnage any longer, too far to have to _smell_ it even with closed eyes, and a deep rumbling crashes in from a distance. I wait for the oncoming tank to roll right over me, before I realize the sound is coming from the sky. 

I still can't find it within me to hate them. 

This backwater make-shift army that had destroyed so many friends I had once had. I had no drive for revenge, I had no need to continue this charade, to perpetuate these false pretenses for destruction and conquest. 

It probably had been a great while, but it felt like only moments when the sky released a barrage of tears in my stead, raining down pain and sorrow I was incapable of shedding myself. 

The fires sizzled and cracked, straining under the weight of its effects, the ground beneath me started to cave in, turning to mud as the beat of the rain grew heavier and harder. 

I would lay like this for an eternity, until the earth caved in and swallowed me whole. 

But then he came, that boy whose name I did not know, that boy whose name I never asked. I'll never figure out how he knew I was still alive, breathing slowed to nothing, tears nonexistent, and eyes still open in that dead stare every SOLDIER shared in this instant. 

He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me upward, pulled me to my feet and said, "C'mon, we gotta go." 

I didn't ask where. 

"There's a fort south of here. If we travel through the mountains we should be safe." He tried to drag me along, but I only had eyes for the fire. 

And I stumbled to it like a moth to a flame. 

There was still a flicker of life there, behind amber eyes. The heavy metal of one of the bases to the gun turrets was locked over his left leg, his arm was snapped so awkwardly it couldn't have still been in one piece, the ground beneath him such a sickening mixture of blood and clay I couldn't even stand to look at the color. He was breathing in deep, shaky breaths, each wheeze sending a spray of blood out, onto my face, suddenly pressed so close to his. 

But I didn't care. 

Because all I wanted to do right now was cling to David Ellis and wait for the world to swallow us whole, but I knew this wasn't fair to him. 

And because he was my friend, and I loved him, I had to try and pull him out of here for his own sake. 

The boy who had saved me was not that stupid, his hands were already wrapped around the hunk of metal pushed over his leg. I probably didn't need his help, but he lifted anyway when I joined suit on the opposite side, and when it toppled away out of our hands I immediately knew something wasn't right. 

I _heard_ the gush of blood. 

And when I looked down, Daivd Ellis's leg was no longer attached to his body. 

It was such a clean line, straight through the muscle and bone like a fucking cut of ham, and if I was a doctor, I thought for a moment, I probably could've stitched it right back on, but I was not a doctor. 

I was a murderer. 

And when he started convulsing, and those sprays of blood just became erratic geysers, I only knew that if I did not stop all that red from leaking out of David's stump he was going to die of bloodloss right this second. 

My first thought was just to try and sodder it off, but even amidst all the fire I had nothing to burn with, and the leather belt around my waist came off before I even knew what I was thinking. 

Tourniquet, pull, stop.

I tried to loop the belt around what was left of his leg, cut off midway through the thigh, but his shaking was so bad now, I couldn't aim properly, my shaking was so bad now, I couldn't aim properly. 

" _Hold him down!"_ I shrieked in a voice so high-pitched and terrified, I never recognized it, and the boy was pinning his shoulders down before I had time to blink. 

I pulled tight.

But the shaking had died off. 

The spraying had ceased. 

His eyes remained open. 

I didn't call his name. 

I didn't ask him anything. To stay. To stop. Or why. 

My hand crept up my face, pushing against my eyesocket, trying to shove the tears back in, but it didn't work, and I was clawing my way up his body, to see his face, to say good bye, to sink into his chest until the earth swallowed us whole. 

The amber shone so bright against the mud caked against his body, plastered to his skin, but when I tried to wipe it off, it didn't come, because really, it was all just charred flesh.

And I cried. 

The boy was trying to pull me away; he said we had to go. 

But I couldn't move.

Because David Ellis was laying dead underneath me, and that sick shade of mako glow was still shining in his amber eyes.


	23. entry023.pdf

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**> >DISCHARGE FILES: SHINOHARA, HIKOU ID 58246471 **  
Honorable discharge: granted.   
Service dated: 3rd class - one year, 2nd class - three days.   
Final Rank: 2nd   
Final Class: A   
Missions Completed: 157   
Missions Failed: 11   
Honors Received: Midgar Defense Medal, Shinra Distinguished Service, SOLDIER Commendation, Combat Action Medal, Overseas Service, Wutai Campaign 

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entry023.pdf**

There were no boxes, and so it felt awkward. 

The truth of the matter was, I could cram everything I owned into my pockets, which somehow felt surprisingly small now after wearing those over-sized SOLDIER pants for so long. The few materia I possessed could be slotted for travel, my tiny stock of potions and defective grenades could be strapped to my belt, the leftover keys to my shitty Buick could stay in this cell-block bedroom. 

It took no time at all to be ready to go. That was why it was hard to look busy when the visitors finally rolled in. 

Zack came first, totting a small blonde boy behind him, unaware, uninformed, congratulatory, as giddy as he could be in my grounded, somber presence. 

He flopped onto the bed without asking, tucked his hands behind his head and breathed, "We made it." I didn't ask. "We're finally second!" 

Because this company had saw fit to upgrade us on basis of survival ratings, or maybe it was a bribe not to let loose the truth of the untrained disaster in Fort 27-T, although I'm sure I was the only one who had noticed. 

"You going somewhere?" he asked, eyes finally catching the lack of uniform. 

"Yeah," and it wasn't a lie. 

"Oh? Out to celebrate?" 

And somehow, I couldn't bring myself to tell him. That I wasn't coming back. That I'd probably never see him again. That the discharge papers had been approved. I had wasted enough of Zack Fair's time. 

"Something like that..." 

"Well, then, Cloud, looks like Miss Hikou here has a date," he grinned wolfishly. "We'd best be going." His blonde companion, the one I'd never been introduced to nodded, and Zack Fair walked out my door for the last time. 

Yuuta came next, which was shocking in and of itself. He slunk in silently, without invitation and probably without caring, and for some reason seeing him made me immensely happy. 

I actually took the first word. "Jealous?" 

"No," was the bitten reply. 

"You know, you're technically my subordinate now," I told him. 

To which he replied, "Technically, you're a civilian now." 

I had no answer, save a sheepish smile. Because he was right. And this was awkward. This amicably pissy discourse. "You came to tell me how much you'll miss me, then?" 

His face was not flustered, although he stumbled over his words slightly, unsure of which ones were called for. I had a feeling he didn't do this sort of thing very often. It just made it more strikingly valuable. "We completed a lot of missions, and you don't die easy." 

My laugh was barking. "Thanks, I think." 

"It'll be hard to find a partner that lasted as long as you did," and I pretended he'd said _, Golly, gee, whiz, Hikou, you sure are the bestest teammate I ever did have._

__And it was almost like he did when he handed me that scratched up bit of paper--just a name and an address, some underground rat-trap, I'd never heard of. "You'll need a job," he explained.

"Thanks," I had to say again, dumbstruck. 

"Don't get yourself killed," was the last thing Yuuta Miura ever said to me. 

Kunsel came last. 

He waited so late I'd already left the room. I'd turned in the uniforms and standard issued weapons. I'd given them back their armor and broken PHSes. In turn, they let me keep the too-small medals and certificate of authenticity--the folder that lied my place into this world. 

I'd passed out of the lobby. I'd been scanned through security. I was strolling down the street, significantly lighter in body and in mind, halfway past that old bar by time he caught me by the shoulder, and spun me around. __

__"What the hell were you thinking!"

And I missed my shoulder armor that little bit as his fingers squeezed painfully. "I can't do this anymore." 

" _You don't have a choice,_ " he hissed. 

And it struck me as odd... 

"How far do you think you'll make it before those scientists reel you back in?" 

Because I never would have thought... 

"They're never gonna let you out of their sight!" 

That Kunsel would be more afraid than I was. 

I smiled at him because, enlightened, this was the only function I was capable of, the only proper response I could've given him. I wish I could've been bitter and childish, as was my nature, but for the moment I only saw fear and concern. 

I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry a lot, but for some reason I couldn't. 

I think because I knew things were better this way. As hypocritical as it was, to sink away from one machine of murder and into another, it felt right. 

I didn't have to pull very hard to unclasp his hand, and the steps weren't significantly heavier to turn and walk away from him, standing in the street hurt and confused, scared and maybe a little bit heartbroken. 

In a sick way, it made me feel important. 

Even if I knew it was all a charade. 

Really, no one ever escapes this endless cycle of death.


	24. Epilogue

404 FILE NOT FOUND

_Mr. Murakami,_

_I have sent a woman to you, who in my regard would be highly beneficial to the organization you have been constructing. While her weapons-skills remains sub-par, her hand-to-hand combat and ability to adapt are components of such great caliber she is, as an operative, unmeasurable in value._

_Furthermore, she is of the utmost trust and loyalty. Expect to see her in the Sector Six compound within the month._

_Your Nephew,  
Yuuta_

__

 

__

 

_Pipsqueak,_

_Your woman arrived yesterday. She broke Kwan-Ahn's arm in three places and nearly sent Fuchs through a wall._

_I love her._

_Uncle Murakami_

_PS: Did she sustain any head-injuries during her campaign in Wutai; she doesn't seem all there?_

__

 

__

 

_Dear Yuuta,_

_How've you been? I haven't been all too shabby myself._

_I don't suppose I'm really at liberty to say what I'm up to, anymore than you are to tell me about what's happening in SOLDIER (not that you would anyway, you little jerk), but I wanted to tell you that I went to that address you gave me and they've been hiring me for jobs regularly. It's not really all that glamorous as SOLDIER, but it's better than living in that rat-cage, even though a lot of my new 'associates' really fucking smell._

_I guess, I just wanted to thank you, for everything really, and let you know that despite your best efforts, I'm still alive!_

_Oh, and I wanted to ask you if you could pass on this box number to a few of the guys. I've kinda been itching to talk to some old faces._

_Hope your having fun blowing shit up,  
Hikou_

_PS: I heard you made 2nd! Congrats on catching up with me!_

__

 

__

 

_Hikou,_

_What the hell?! You go out for coffee six months ago and never come back?_

_I am **HURT**._

_I can't say I'm really all that shocked, though. I'm surprised you lasted with us as long as you did, but it seemed like you were really getting into the swing of things before... well, before that_ thing _happened._

_Well, we all know the only reason you stuck around Shinra was to spy on me in the locker room. ;-)_

_Anyway, I'm well on my way to 1st class, hanging with the big-leaguers now. You know, Angeal, Genesis, MAYBE EVEN SEPHIROTH. See what you're missing? And I've got myself this stunningly hot girlfriend. You're out by Wallmarket, right? Maybe you've met her. Her name's Aeris._

_You'd definitely remember her._

_Kunsel's still sore about you leaving, but don't think too much on it. Cloud and I are gonna get him to crack and write you by the end of the week._

_Much love,  
Zack_

__

 

__

 

_Hikou:_

_I think something serious has happened to Zack. He went on a mission to Nibelheim with Sephiroth and three MPs about six months ago, and no one's heard from him since. The official statement Lazard's making is that they all died somewhere in the mountains, but as I'm sure you've heard with the way things have been heading in 1st class, that's probably not the case._

_I've been trying to contact him via PHS forever, but there's no response. I think he might've ditched it in case they try to track him through it. Then I thought he might be laying low wherever you're hiding out, but I can't even track you down you've got this post going through so many different boxes, if you're even still alive._

_I know you probably think I'm an asshole, not talking to you until I want something, but I'm just so worried._

_I'm worried about_ both _of you._

_Let me know if there's anything you need me to do._

_Kunsel_

__

 

__

 

_Dear Kunsel._

_I pray to **God** every night that **I** sleep and I **hope** that every thing that **you're** doing's fine. You're **smart,** but I worry **enough** about everything here **to** go crazy, I **figure** it's a mom-thing **. This** letter's my last **out**._

_I think that **I've,** in the past, **been** bad coping with **moving** often, but Father's **around** more, so it's **a-lot** better. Now that **I** am older, I **think** it's good that **Shinra's** got you. It's **been** a hard business, **sending** my son to **a** army to play **spy.**_

_Well, I guess,_ **I** still worry. We **haven't** been in touch.  
**  
_Seen_ ** _that little boy, **Zack** , yesterday in town, **but,** in all honesty **, I** must say I **think** a boy who's **that** young shouldn't be **there** himself. His mother **has** taken ill; I've **been** to have a **talk** at her home **about** all of this **reactor** shenanigans going on. **Modifications?** Doesn't that just **sound** ridiculous?_

_Is she **familiar?**_

_..._

_I beg you, **please,** please, please to **look** within your soul, **into** your heart and **it** will be alright **.**_

_**I'm** glad to write. **Sorry** there isn't more **.**_

_**H** oping **i** t **k** eeps **o** n **u** p, in SOLDIER._

_Your Mother._

__

 

__

 

_Hikou,_

_Official bulletin marks Kunsel, Ikari as KIA, but I saw the body bag come out of the freight elevator from Level 67._

_What's going on._

_Yuuta._

__

 

__

 

_Mr. Murakami,_

_Is the woman you were employing still in your services, or is there any way you might arrange a meeting between us?_

_Your Nephew,  
Yuuta._

__

 

__

 

_Pipsqueak,_

_I haven't seen that girl in months. She finished her last job up in Midgar just after those Avalanche hooligans started stirring up trouble in the city again._

_Which reminds me, Shinra has signed us for the new contract in Sector 1 after the reactor bombing, we could really use your help, if you're interested in stepping out of that suit and getting a **real** job._

_But, last I heard of that girl of yours, she was heading out west-ways, and the little harpie conned Kwan-Ahn into coming with her. If you_ do _get a hold of her, tell her I have work for her to do!_

_Your honorable Uncle._

 

 

_Hikou,_

Kunsel is dead. Do you have any information?

Yuuta.

 

 

Hikou,

Are you alright?

Yuuta.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sequel/Part 2 Full Circle has been posted.


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